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KNEBIVORTH  LIMITED   EDITION 


ALICE 


OR 


THE    MYSTERIES 


BY 

EDWARD    BULWER    LYTTON 

(LORD   LYTTON) 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON 
ESTES    AND     LAURIAT 

1891 


KNEBIVORTH   LIMITED    EDITION. 

Limited  to  One  Thousand  Copies. 

No,  .59.5 


TYPOGRAPHY,  ELECTROTYPING,  AND 
/'R/NT//VG  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON, 
UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


College 
library 

/)  3  9 ; 
IS9J 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

Evelyn  and  Sultan Frontispiece 

"The  little  gate  opened,  and  Lady  Vargkave  appeared"   .    188 

'"Forgive  me,'  said  Vargrave,  soothingly" 250 

Maltravers  and  Evelyn  in  tue  Moonlight 338 


ALICE;   OR,  THE    MYSTERIES 


ALICE ;  OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


BOOK    I. 

2^  rhv  iyav\lois  vvh  SivSpoKS/iois 

.     .     .     dvaPodiToo.  —  EuBiPlDES  :  fleZ.  1.  1116. 

"  Thee,  hid  the  bowering  vales  amidst,  I  calL" 


CHAPTER  I. 

Who  art  thou,  fair  one,  who  usurp'st  the  place 

Of  Blanch,  the  lady  of  the  matchless  grace  f  —  Lamb. 

It  was  towards  the  evening  of  a  day  in  early  April  that  two 
ladies  were  seated  by  the  open  windows  of  a  cottage  in  Devon- 
shire. The  lawn  before  them  was  gay  with  evergreens,  re- 
lieved by  the  first  few  flowers  and  fresh  turf  of  the  reviving 
spring;  and  at  a  distance,  through  an  opening  amongst  the 
trees,  the  sea,  blue  and  tranquil,  bounded  the  view,  and  con- 
trasted the  more  confined  and  home-like  features  of  the  scene. 
It  was  a  spot  remote,  sequestered,  shut  out  from  the  business 
and  pleasures  of  the  world;  as  such  it  suited  the  tastes  and 
character  of  the  owner. 

That  owner  was  the  younger  of  the  ladies  seated  by  the 
window.  You  would  scarcely  have  guessed,  from  her  appear- 
ance, that  she  was  more  than  seven  or  eight  and  twenty, 
though  she  exceeded  by  four  or  five  years  that  critical  boun- 
dary in  the  life  of  beauty.  Her  form  was  slight  and  delicate 
in  its  proportions,  nor  was  her  countenance  the  less  lovely 
because,  from  its  gentleness  and  repose  (not  unmixed  with  a 
certain  sadness)  the  coarse  and  the  gay  might  have  thought  it 

1 


2  ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

wanting  in  expression.  For  there  is  a  stillness  in  the  aspect 
of  those  who  have  felt  deeply,  which  deceives  the  common 
eye,  —  as  rivers  are  often  alike  tranquil  and  profound,  in  pro- 
portion as  they  are  remote  from  the  springs  which  agitated 
and  swelled  the  commencement  of  their  course,  and  by  which 
their  waters  are  still,  though  invisibly,  supplied. 

The  elder  lady,  the  guest  of  her  companion,  was  past 
seventy ;  her  gray  hair  was  drawn  back  from  the  forehead, 
and  gathered  under  a  stiff  cap  of  quaker-like  simplicity ;  while 
her  dress,  rich  but  plain,  and  of  no  very  modern  fashion, 
served  to  increase  the  venerable  appearance  of  one  who 
seemed  not  ashamed  of  years. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Leslie,"  said  the  lady  of  the  house,  after  a 
thoughtful  pause  in  the  conversation  that  had  been  carried  on 
for  the  last  hour,  "  it  is  very  true ;  perhaps  I  was  to  blame  in 
coming  to  this  place;  I  ought  not  to  have  been  so  selfish." 

"No,  my  dear  friend,"  returned  Mrs.  Leslie,  gently;  "sel- 
fish is  a  word  that  can  never  be  applied  to  you ;  you  acted  as 
became  you,  —  agreeably  to  your  own  instinctive  sense  of  what 
is  best  when  at  your  age,  —  independent  in  fortune  and  rank, 
and  still  so  lovely,  — you  resigned  all  that  would  have 
attracted  others,  and  devoted  yourself,  in  retirement,  to  a 
life  of  quiet  and  unknown  benevolence.  You  are  in  your 
sphere  in  this  village,  —  humble  though  it  be,  —  consoling, 
relieving,  healing  the  wretched,  the  destitute,  the  infirm ;  and 
teaching  your  Evelyn  insensibly  to  imitate  your  modest  and 
Christian  virtues."  The  good  old  lady  spoke  warmly,  and 
with  tears  in  her  eyes;  her  companion  placed  her  hand  in 
Mrs.  Leslie's. 

"You  cannot  make  me  vain,"  said  she,  with  a  sweet  and 
melancholy  smile.  "  I  remember  what  I  was  when  you  first 
gave  shelter  to  the  poor,  desolate  wanderer  and  her  fatherless 
child;  and  I,  who  was  then  so  poor  and  destitute,  what  should 
I  be,  if  I  was  deaf  to  the  poverty  and  sorrows  of  others,  — 
others,  too,  who  are  better  than  I  am.  But  now  Evelyn,  as 
you  say,  is  growing  up;  the  time  approaches  when  she  must 
decide  on  accepting  or  rejecting  Lord  Vargrave.  And  yet  in 
this  village  how  can  she  compare  him  with  others ;  how  can 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  8 

she  form  a  choice?  What  you  say  is  very  true;  and  yet  I  did 
not  think  of  it  sufficiently.  What  shall  I  do?  I  am  only 
anxious,  dear  girl,  to  act  so  as  may  be  best  for  her  own 
happiness." 

"Of  that  I  am  sure,"  returned  Mrs.  Leslie;  "and  yet  I 
know  not  how  to  advise.  On  one  hand,  so  much  is  due  to 
the  wishes  of  your  late  husband,  in  every  point  of  view, 
that  if  Lord  Vargrave  be  worthy  of  Evelyn's  esteem  and 
affection,  it  would  be  most  desirable  that  she  should  prefer 
him  to  all  others.  But  if  he  be  what  I  hear  he  is  considered 
in  the  world,  —  an  artful,  scheming,  almost  heartless  man, 
of  ambitious  and  hard  pursuits,  —  I  tremble  to  think  how 
completely  the  happiness  of  Evelyn's  whole  life  may  be 
thrown  away.  She  certainly  is  not  in  love  with  him,  and 
yet  I  fear  she  is  one  whose  nature  is  but  too  susceptible  of 
affection.  She  ought  now  to  see  others,  —  to  know  her  own 
mind,  and  not  to  be  hurried,  blindfold  and  inexperienced,  into 
a  step  that  decides  existence.  This  is  a  duty  we  owe  to  her, 
—  nay,  even  to  the  late  Lord  Vargrave,  anxious  as  he  was  for 
the  marriage.  His  aim  was  surely  her  happiness,  and  he 
would  not  have  insisted  upon  means  that  time  and  circum- 
stances might  show  to  be  contrary  to  the  end  he  had  in  view." 

"You  are  right,"  replied  Lady  Vargrave.  "When  my  poor 
husband  lay  on  his  bed  of  death,  just  before  he  summoned  his 
nephew  to  receive  his  last  blessing,  he  said  to  me,  '  Provi- 
dence can  counteract  all  our  schemes.  If  ever  it  should  be 
for  Evelyn's  real  happiness  that  my  wish  for  her  marriage 
with  Lumley  Ferrers  should  not  be  fulfilled,  to  you  I  must 
leave  the  right  to  decide  on  what  I  cannot  foresee.  All  I  ask 
is  that  no  obstacle  shall  be  thrown  in  the  way  of  my  wish; 
and  that  the  child  shall  be  trained  up  to  consider  Lumley  as 
her  future  husband. '  Among  his  papers  was  a  letter  addressed 
to  me  to  the  same  effect;  and,  indeed,  in  other  respects  that 
letter  left  more  to  my  judgment  than  I  had  any  right  to 
expect.  Oh,  I  am  often  unhappy  to  think  that  he  did  not 
marry  one  who  would  have  deserved  his  affection  I  and  —  but 
regret  is  useless  now." 

"I  wish  you  could  really  feel  so,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie;  "for 


4  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

regret  of  another  kind  still  seems  to  haunt  you;  and  I  do  not 
think  you  have  yet  forgotten  your  early  sorrows." 

"Ah,  how  can  I?"  said  Lady  Vargrave,  with  a  quivering 
lip. 

At  that  instant,  a  light  shadow  darkened  the  sunny  lawn  in 
front  of  the  casements,  and  a  sweet,  gay  young  voice  was 
heard  singing  at  a  little  distance;  a  moment  more,  and  a 
beautiful  girl,  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  bounded  lightly 
along  the  grass,  and  halted  opposite  the  friends. 

It  was  a  remarkable  contrast,  — the  repose  and  quiet  of  the 
two  persons  we  have  described,  the  age  and  gray  hairs  of  one, 
the  resigned  and  melancholy  gentleness  written  on  the  features 
of  the  other  —  with  the  springing  step  and  laughing  eyes  and 
radiant  bloom  of  the  new  comer!  As  she  stood  with  the  set- 
ting sun  glowing  full  upon  her  rich  fair  hair,  her  happy  coun- 
tenance and  elastic  form,  it  was  a  vision  almost  too  bright  for 
this  weary  earth,  —  a  thing  of  light  and  bliss,  that  the  joy- 
ous Greek  might  have  placed  among  the  forms  of  Heaven, 
and  worshipped  as  an  Aurora  or  a  Hebe. 

"Oh,  how  can  you  stay  indoors  this  beautiful  evening? 
Come,  dearest  Mrs.  Leslie;  come.  Mother,  dear  Mother,  you 
know  you  promised  you  would,  — you  said  I  was  to  call  you; 
see,  it  will  rain  no  more,  and  the  shower  has  left  the  myrtles 
and  the  violet-bank  so  fresh." 

"My  dear  Evelyn,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie,  with  a  smile,  "I  am 
not  so  young  as  you." 

"No;  but  you  are  just  as  gay  when  you  are  in  good  spirits 
—  and  who  can  be  out  of  spirits  in  such  weather?  Let  me  call 
for  your  chair;  let  me  wheel  you  —  I  am  sure  I  can.  Down, 
Sultan;  so  you  have  found  me  out,  have  you,  sir?  Be  quiet, 
sir,  down ! " 

This  last  exhortation  was  addressed  to  a  splendid  dog  of 
the  Newfoundland  breed,  who  now  contrived  wholly  to  occupy 
Evelyn's  attention. 

The  two  friends  looked  at  this  beautiful  girl,  as  with  all 
the  grace  of  youth  she  shared  while  she  rebuked  the  exuber- 
ant hilarity  of  her  huge  playmate;  and  the  elder  of  the  two 
seemed  the  most  to  sympathize  with  her  mirth.     Both  gazed 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  5 

with  fond  affection  upon  an  object  dear  to  both.  But  some 
memory  or  association  touched  Lady  Vargrave,  and  she  sighed 
as  she  gazed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Is  stormy  life  preferred  to  this  serene  ?  —  Young  :  Satires. 

And  the  windows  were  closed  in,  and  night  had  succeeded 
to  evening,  and  the  little  party  at  the  cottage  were  grouped 
together.  Mrs.  Leslie  was  quietly  seated  at  her  tambour- 
frame  ;  Lady  Vargrave,  leaning  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  seemed 
absorbed  in  a  volume  before  her,  but  her  eyes  were  not  on  the 
page ;  Evelyn  was  busily  employed  in  turning  over  the  con- 
tents of  a  parcel  of  books  and  music  which  had  just  been 
brought  from  the  lodge  where  the  London  coach  had 
deposited  it. 

"Oh,  dear  Mamma!"  cried  Evelyn,  "I  am  so  glad;  there 
is  something  you  will  like,  —  some  of  the  poetry  that  touched 
you  so  much  set  to  music." 

Evelyn  brought  the  songs  to  her  mother,  who  roused  herself 
from  her  revery,  and  looked  at  them  with  interest. 

"It  is  very  strange,"  said  she,  "that  I  should  be  so  affected 
by  all  that  is  written  by  this  person :  I,  too  "  (she  added,  ten- 
derly stroking  down  Evelyn's  luxuriant  tresses),  "who  am  not 
so  fond  of  reading  as  you  are !  " 

"You  are  reading  one  of  his  books  now,"  said  Evelyn, 
glancing  over  the  open  page  on  the  table.  "  Ah,  that  beauti- 
ful passage  upon  '  Our  First  Impressions.'  Yet  I  do  not  like 
you,  dear  Mother,  to  read  his  books;  they  always  seem  to 
make  you  sad." 

"  There  is  a  charm  to  me  in  their  thoughts,  their  manner  of 
expression,"  said  Lady  Vargrave,  "which  sets  me  thinking, 
which  reminds  me  of  —  of  an  early  friend,  whom  I  could  fancy 
I  hear  talking  while  I  read.  It  was  so  from  the  first  time  I 
opened  by  accident  a  book  of  his  years  ago." 


6  ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES. 

"Who  is  this  author  that  pleases  you  so  much?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Leslie,  with  some  surprise;  for  Lady  Vargrave  had  usually 
little  pleasure  in  reading  even  the  greatest  and  most  popular 
masterpieces  of  modern  genius. 

"Maltravers,"  answered  Evelyn;  "and  I  think  I  almost 
share  my  mother's  enthusiasm." 

" Maltravers ! "  repeated  Mrs.  Leslie.  "He  is,  perhaps,  a 
dangerous  writer  for  one  so  young.  At  your  age,  dear  girl, 
you  have  naturally  romance  and  feeling  enough  of  your  own 
without  seeking  them  in  books." 

"But,  dear  madam,"  said  Evelyn,  standing  up  for  her 
favourite,  "his  writings  do  not  consist  of  romance  and  feel- 
ing only;  they  are  not  exaggerated,  they  are  so  simple,  so 
truthful." 

"Did  you  ever  meet  him? "  asked  Lady  Vargrave. 

"Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Leslie,  "once,  when  he  was  a  gay, 
fair-haired  boy.  His  father  resided  in  the  next  county,  and 
we  met  at  a  country-house.     Mr.  Maltravers  himself  has  an 

estate  near  my  daughter  in  B shire,  but  he  does  not  live 

on  it ;  he  has  been  some  years  abroad,  —  a  strange  character !  " 

"Why  does  he  write  no  more?"  said  Evelyn;  "I  have  read 
his  works  so  often,  and  know  his  poetry  so  well  by  heart, 
that  I  should  look  forward  to  something  new  from  him  as  an 
event. " 

"  I  have  heard,  my  dear,  that  he  has  withdrawn  much  from 
the  world  and  its  objects,  —  that  he  has  lived  greatly  in  the 
East.  The  death  of  a  lady  to  whom  he  was  to  have  been  mar- 
ried is  said  to  have  unsettled  and  changed  his  character.  Since 
that  event  he  has  not  returned  to  England.  Lord  Vargrave 
can  tell  you  more  of  him  than  I." 

"  Lord  Vargrave  thinks  of  nothing  that  is  not  always  before 
the  world,"  said  Evelyn. 

"I  am  sure  you  wrong  him,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie,  looking  up 
and  fixing  her  eyes  on  Evelyn's  countenance ;  "  for  you  are  not 
before  the  world." 

Evelyn  slightly  —  very  slightly  —  pouted  her  pretty  lip, 
but  made  no  answer.  She  took  up  the  music,  and  seating 
herself  at  the  piano,  practised  the  airs.     Lady  Vargrave  lis- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  7 

tened  with  emotion;  and  as  Evelyn  in  a  voice  exquisitely 
sweet,  though  not  powerful,  sang  the  words,  her  mother 
turned  away  her  face,  and  half  unconsciously,  a  few  tears 
stole  silently  down  her  cheek. 

When  Evelyn  ceased,  herself  affected,  — for  the  lines  were 
impressed  with  a  wild  and  melancholy  depth  of  feeling,  —  she 
came  again  to  her  mother's  side,  and  seeing  her  emotion, 
kissed  away  the  tears  from  the  pensive  eyes.  Her  own  gayety 
left  her;  she  drew  a  stool  to  her  mother's  feet,  and  nestling 
to  her,  and  clasping  her  hand,  did  not  leave  that  place  till 
they  retired  to  rest. 

And  the  lady  blessed  Evelyn,  and  felt  that,  if  bereaved,  she 
was  not  alone. 


CHAPTER  III. 

But  come,  thou  Goddess,  fair  and  free. 
In  heaven  yclept  Euphrosyne  ! 

To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight. 

And,  singing,  startle  the  dull  night.  —  L' Allegro. 

But  come,  thou  Goddess,  sage  and  holy. 
Come,  divinest  Melancholy  ! 

There  held  in  holy  passion  still. 

Forget  thyself  to  marble.  —  II  Penseroso. 

The  early  morn  of  early  spring  —  what  associations  of 
freshness  and  hope  in  that  single  sentence!  And  there  — 
a  little  after  sunrise  —  there  was  Evelyn,  fresh  and  hopeful 
as  the  morning  itself,  bounding  with  the  light  step  of  a  light 
heart  over  the  lawn.  Alone,  alone!  no  governess,  with  a 
pinched  nose  and  a  sharp  voice,  to  curb  her  graceful  move- 
ments, and  tell  her  how  young  ladies  ought  to  walk.  How 
silently  morning  stole  over  the  earth !    It  was  as  if  youth  had 


8  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

the  day  and  the  world  to  itself.  The  shutters  of  the  cottage 
were  still  closed,  and  Evelyn  cast  a  glance  upward,  to  assure 
herself  that  her  mother,  who  also  rose  betimes,  was  not  yet 
stirring.  So  she  tripped  along,  singing  from  very  glee,  to 
secure  a  companion,  and  let  out  Sultan ;  and  a  few  moments 
afterwards,  they  were  scouring  over  the  grass,  and  descending 
the  rude  steps  that  wound  down  the  cliff  to  the  smooth  sea- 
sands.  Evelyn  was  still  a  child  at  heart,  yet  somewhat  more 
than  a  child  in  mind.     In  the  majesty  of  — 

"  That  hollow,  sounding,  and  mysterious  main,"  — 

in  the  silence  broken  but  by  the  murmur  of  the  billows,  in 
the  solitude  relieved  but  by  the  boats  of  the  early  fishermen, 
she  felt  those  deep  and  tranquillizing  influences  which  belong 
to  the  Eeligion  of  Nature.  Unconsciously  to  herself,  her 
sweet  face  grew  more  thoughtful,  and  her  step  more  slow. 
What  a  complex  thing  is  education!  How  many  circum- 
stances, that  have  no  connection  with  books  and  tutors,  con- 
tribute to  the  rearing  of  the  human  mind !  The  earth  and  the 
sky  and  the  ocean  were  among  the  teachers  of  Evelyn  Came- 
ron ;  and  beneath  her  simplicity  of  thought  was  daily  filled, 
from  the  turns  of  invisible  spirits,  the  fountain  of  the  poetry 
of  feeling. 

This  was  the  hour  when  Evelyn  most  sensibly  felt  how 
little  our  real  life  is  chronicled  by  external  events,  —  how 
much  we  live  a  second  and  a  higher  life  in  our  meditations 
and  dreams.  Brought  up,  not  more  by  precept  than  example, 
in  the  faith  which  unites  creature  and  Creator,  this  was  the 
hour  in  which  thought  itself  had  something  of  the  holiness  of 
prayer ;  and  if  (turning  from  dreams  divine  to  earlier  visions) 
this  also  was  the  hour  in  which  the  heart  painted  and  peopled 
its  own  fairyland  below,  of  the  two  ideal  worlds  that  stretch 
beyond  the  inch  of  time  on  which  we  stand.  Imagination  is 
perhaps  holier  than  Memory. 

So  now,  as  the  day  crept  on,  Evelyn  returned  in  a  more 
sober  mood,  and  then  she  joined  her  mother  and  Mrs.  Leslie 
at  breakfast;  and  then  the  household  cares  —  such  as  they 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  9 

were  —  devolved  upon  her,  heiress  though  she  was ;  and,  that 
duty  done,  once  more  the  straw  hat  and  Sultan  were  in  requi- 
sition; and  opening  a  little  gate  at  the  back  of  the  cottage, 
she  took  the  path  along  the  village  churchyard  that  led  to  the 
house  of  the  old  curate.  The  burial-ground  itself  was  sur- 
rounded and  shut  in  with  a  belt  of  trees.  Save  the  small 
time-discoloured  church  and  the  roofs  of  the  cottage  and  the 
minister's  house,  no  building  —  not  even  a  cotter's  hut  —  was 
visible  there.  Beneath  a  dark  and  single  yew-tree  in  the 
centre  of  the  ground  was  placed  a  rude  seat;  opposite  to  this 
seat  was  a  grave,  distinguished  from  the  rest  by  a  slight  pal- 
isade. As  the  young  Evelyn  passed  slowly  by  this  spot,  a 
glove  on  the  long  damp  grass  beside  the  yew-tree  caught  her 
eye.  She  took  it  up  and  sighed,  —  it  was  her  mother's.  She 
sighed,  for  she  thought  of  the  soft  melancholy  on  that  mother's 
face  which  her  caresses  and  her  mirth  never  could  wholly 
chase  away.  She  wondered  why  that  melancholy  was  so  fixed 
a  habit,  for  the  young  ever  wonder  why  the  experienced  should 
be  sad. 

And  now  Evelyn  had  passed  the  churchyard,  and  was  on  the 
green  turf  before  the  minister's  quaint,  old-fashioned  house. 

The  old  man  himself  was  at  work  in  his  garden;  but'he 
threw  down  his  hoe  as  he  saw  Evelyn,  and  came  cheerfully 
up  to  greet  her. 

It  was  easy  to  see  how  dear  she  was  to  him. 

"So  you  are  come  for  your  daily  lesson,  my  young  pupil?" 

"  Yes ;  but  Tasso  can  wait  if  the  —  " 

"If  the  tutor  wants  to  play  truant;  no,  my  child;  and, 
indeed,  the  lesson  must  be  longer  than  usual  to-day,  for  I 
fear  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  to-morrow  for  some  days." 

"  Lfeave  us !  why?  —  leave  Brook-Green  —  impossible !  " 

"  Not  at  all  impossible ;  for  we  have  now  a  new  vicar,  and  I 
must  turn  courtier  in  my  old  age,  and  ask  him  to  leave  me 
with  my  flock.  He  is  at  Weymouth,  and  has  written  to  me  to 
visit  him  there.  So,  Miss  Evelyn,  I  must  give  you  a  holiday 
task  to  learn  while  I  am  away." 

Evelyn  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes  —  for  when  the 
heart  is  full  of  affection  the  eyes  easily  run  over  —  and  clung 


10  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

mournfully  to  the  old  man,  as  she  gave  utterance  to  all  her 
half-childish,  half-womanly  grief  at  the  thought  of  parting  so 
soon  with  him.  And  what,  too,  could  her  mother  do  without 
him ;  and  why  could  he  not  write  to  the  vicar  instead  of  going 
to  him? 

The  curate,  who  was  childless  and  a  bachelor,  was  not 
insensible  to  the  fondness  of  his  beautiful  pupil,  and  perhaps 
he  himself  was  a  little  more  distrait  than  usual  that  morning, 
or  else  Evelyn  was  peculiarly  inattentive;  fer  certain  it  is 
that  she  reaped  very  little  benefit  from  the  lesson. 

Yet  he  was  an  admirable  teacher,  that  old  man !  Aware  of 
Evelyn's  quick,  susceptible,  and  rather  fanciful  character 
of  mind,  he  had  sought  less  to  curb  than  to  refine  and  elevate 
her  imagination.  Himself  of  no  ordinary  abilities,  which 
leisure  had  allowed  him  to  cultivate,  his  piety  was  too  large 
and'  cheerful  to  exclude  literature  —  Heaven's  best  gift  —  from 
the  pale  of  religion.  And  under  his  care  Evelyn's  mind  had 
been  duly  stored  with  the  treasures  of  modern  genius,  and  her 
judgment  strengthened  by  the  criticisms  of  a  graceful  and 
generous  taste. 

In  that  sequestered  hamlet,  the  young  heiress  had  been 
trained  to  adorn  her  future  station ;  to  appreciate  the  arts  and 
elegances  that  distinguish  (no  matter  what  the  rank)  the 
refined  from  the  low,  better  than  if  she  had  been  brought 
up  under  the  hundred-handed  Briareus  of  fashionable  educa- 
tion. Lady  Vargrave,  indeed,  like  most  persons  of  modest 
pretensions  and  imperfect  cultivation,  was  rather  inclined  to 
overrate  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  book-knowledge ; 
and  she  was  never  better  pleased  than  when  she  saw  Evelyn 
opening  the  monthly  parcel  from  London,  and  delightedly 
poring  over  volumes  which  Lady  Vargrave  innocently  believed 
to  be  reservoirs  of  inexhaustible  wisdom. 

But  this  day  Evelyn  would  not  read,  and  the  golden  verses 
of  Tasso  lost  their  music  to  her  ear.  So  the  curate  gave  up 
the  lecture,  and  placed  a  little  programme  of  studies  to  be 
conned  during  his  absence  in  her  reluctant  hand;  and  Sultan, 
who  had  been  wistfully  licking  his  paws  for  the  last  half -hour, 
sprang  up  and  caracoled  once  more  into  the  garden;  and  the 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  11 

old  priest  and  the  young  woman  left  the  works  of  man  for 
those  of  Nature. 

"Do  not  fear,  I  will  take  such  care  of  your  garden  while 
you  are  away,"  said  Evelyn;  "and  you  must  write  and  let  us 
know  what  day  you  are  to  come  back." 

"  My  dear  Evelyn,  you  are  born  to  spoil  every  one  —  from 
Sultan  to  Aubrey." 

"And  to  be  spoilt  too,  don't  forget  that,"  cried  Evelyn, 
laughingly  shaking  back  her  ringlets.  "  And  now,  before  you 
go,  will  you  tell  me,  as  you  are  so  wise,  what  I  can  do  to 
make  —  to  make  —  my  mother  love  me?" 

Evelyn's  voice  faltered  as  she  spoke  the  last  words,  and 
Aubrey  looked  surprised  and  moved. 

"Your  mother  love  you,  my  dear  Evelyn!  What  do  you 
mean,  — does  she  not  love  you?" 

"  Ah,  not  as  I  love  her.  She  is  kind  and  gentle,  I  know, 
for  she  is  so  to  all;  but  she  does  not  confide  in  me,  she  does 
not  trust  me ;  she  has  some  sorrow  at  heart  which  I  am  never 
allowed  to  learn  and  soothe.  Why  does  she  avoid  all  mention 
of  her  early  days?  She  never  talks  to  me  as  if  she,  too,  had 
once  a  mother !  Why  am  I  never  to  speak  of  her  first  mar- 
riage, of  my  father?  Why  does  she  look  reproachfully  at  me, 
and  shun  me  —  yes,  shun  me,  for  days  together  —  if  —  if  I 
attempt  to  draw  her  to  the  past?  Is  there  a  secret?  If  so, 
am  I  not  old  enough  to  know  it?" 

Evelyn  spoke  quickly  and  nervously,  and  with  quivering 
lips.  Aubrey  took  her  hand,  and  pressing  it,  said,  after  a 
little  pause,  — 

"Evelyn,  this  is  the  first  time  you  have  ever  thus  spoken 
to  me.  Has  anything  chanced  to  arouse  your  —  shall  I  call  it 
curiosity,  or  shall  I  call  it  the  mortified  pride  of  affection?" 

"And  you,  too,  are  harsh;  you  blame  me!  No,  it  is  true 
that  I  have  not  thus  spoken  to  you  before ;  but  I  have  long, 
long  thought  with  grief  that  I  was  insufficient  to  my  mother's 
happiness,  —  I  who  love  her  so  dearly.  And  now,  since  Mrs. 
Leslie  has  been  here,  I  find  her  conversing  with  this  compara- 
tive stranger  so  much  more  confidentially  than  with  me. 
When  I  come  in  unexpectedly,  they  cease  their  conference. 


12  ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES. 

as  if  I  were  not  worthy  to  share  it ;  and  —  and  oh,  if  I  could 
but  make  you  understand  that  all  I  desire  is  that  my  mother 
should  love  me  and  know  me  and  trust  me  —  " 

*'  Evelyn, "  said  the  curate,  coldly,  "  you  love  your  mother, 
and  justly ;  a  kinder  and  a  gentler  heart  than  hers  does  not 
beat  in  a  human  breast.  Her  first  wish  in  life  is  for  your 
happiness  and  welfare.  You  ask  for  confidence,  but  why  not 
confide  in  her;  why  not  believe  her  actuated  by  the  best  and 
the  tenderest  motives ;  why  not  leave  it  to  her  discretion  to 
reveal  to  you  any  secret  grief,  if  such  there  be,  that  preys 
upon  her;  why  add  to  that  grief  by  any  selfish  indulgence  of 
over-susceptibility  in  yourself?  My  dear  pupil,  you  are  yet 
almost  a  child;  and  they  who  have  sorrowed  may  well  be 
reluctant  to  sadden  with  a  melancholy  confidence  those  to 
whom  sorrow  is  yet  unknown.  This  much,  at  least,  I  may 
tell  you,  —  for  this  much  she  does  not  seek  to  conceal,  —  that 
Lady  Vargrave  was  early  inured  to  trials  from  which  you, 
more  happy,  have  been  saved.  She  speaks  not  to  you  of  her 
relations,  for  she  has  none  left  on  earth.  And  after  her  mar- 
riage with  your  benefactor,  Evelyn,  perhaps  it  seemed  to  her 
a  matter  of  principle  to  banish  all  vain  regret,  all  remem- 
brance if  possible,  of  an  earlier  tie." 

"My  poor,  poor  mother!  Oh,  yes,  you  are  right;  forgive 
me.  She  yet  mourns,  perhaps,  my  father,  whom  I  never  saw, 
whom  I  feel,  as  it  were,  tacitly  forbid  to  name,  —  you  did  not 
know  him?" 

"Him!— whom?" 

"My  father,  my  mother's  first  husband." 

"No." 

"But  I  am  sure  I  could  not  have  loved  him  so  well  as  my 
benefactor,  my  real  and  second  father,  who  is  now  dead  and 
gone.  Oh,  how  well  I  remember  him,  — how  fondly!  "  Here 
Evelyn  stopped  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  do  right  to  remember  him  thus ;  to  love  and  revere 
his  memory,  —  a  father  indeed  he  was  to  you.  But  now, 
Evelyn,  my  own  dear  child,  hear  me.  Respect  the  silent 
heart  of  your  mother ;  let  her  not  think  that  her  misfortunes, 
whatever  they  may  be,  can  cast  a  shadow  over  you,  —  you,  her 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  13 

last  hope  and  blessing.  Bather  than  seek  to  open  the  old 
wounds,  suffer  them  to  heal,  as  they  must,  beneath  the  influ- 
ences of  religion  and  time ;  and  wait  the  hour  when  without, 
perhaps,  too  keen  a  grief,  your  mother  can  go  back  with  you 
into  the  past." 

"I  will,  I  will!  Oh,  how  wicked,  how  ungracious  I  have 
been!  It  was  but  an  excess  of  love,  believe  it,  dear  Mr. 
Aubrey,  believe  it." 

"  I  do  believe  it,  my  poor  Evelyn ;  and  now  I  know  that  I 
may  trust  in  you.  Come,  dry  those  bright  eyes,  or  they  will 
think  I  have  been  a  hard  taskmaster,  and  let  us  go  to  the 
cottage." 
-^  They  walked  slowly  and  silently  across  the  humble  garden 
into  the  churchyard,  and  there,  by  the  old  yew-tree,  they  saw 
Lady  Vargrave.  Evelyn,  fearful  that  the  traces  of  her  tears 
were  yet  visible,  drew  back;  and  Aubrey,  aware  of  what 
passed  within  her,  said,  — 

"  Shall  I  join  your  mother,  and  tell  her  of  my  approaching 
departure?  And  perhaps  in  the  meanwhile  you  will  call  at 
our  poor  pensioner's  in  the  village, — Dame  Newman  is  so 
anxious  to  see  you;  we  will  join  you  there  soon." 

Evelyn  smiled  her  thanks,  and  kissing  her  hand  to  her 
mother  with  seeming  gayety,  turned  back  and  passed  through 
the  glebe  into  the  little  village.  Aubrey  joined  Lady  Var- 
grave, and  drew  her  arm  in  his. 

Meanwhile  Evelyn  thoughtfully  pursued  her  way.  Her 
heart  was  full,  and  of  self-reproach.  Her  mother  had,  then, 
known  cause  for  sorrow;  and  perhaps  her  reserve  was  but 
occasioned  by  her  reluctance  to  pain  her  child.  Oh,  how 
doubly  anxious  would  Evelyn  be  hereafter  to  soothe,  to  com- 
fort, to  wean  that  dear  mother  from  the  past!  Though  in 
this  girl's  character  there  was  something  of  the  impetuosity 
and  thoughtlessness  of  her  years,  it  was  noble  as  well  as  soft; 
and  now  the  woman's  trustfulness  conquered  all  the  woman's 
curiosity. 

She  entered  the  cottage  of  the  old  bedridden  crone  whom 
Aubrey  had  referred  to.  It  was  as  a  gleam  of  sunshine,  — 
that  sweet  comforting  face;    and  here,    seated  by  the  old 


14  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

waman's  side,  witli  the  Book  of  the  Poor  upon  her  lap, 
Evelyn  was  found  by  Lady  Vargrave.  It  was  curious  to 
observe  the  different  impressions  upon  the  cottagers  made 
by  the  mother  and  daughter.  Both  were  beloved  with  almost 
equal  enthusiasm;  but  with  the  first  the  poor  felt  more  at 
home.  They  could  talk  to  her  more  at  ease :  she  understood 
them  so  much  more  quickly;  they  had  no  need  to  beat  about 
the  bush  to  tell  the  little  peevish  complaints  that  they  were 
half-ashamed  to  utter  to  Evelyn.  What  seemed  so  light  to 
the  young,  cheerful  beauty,  the  mother  listened  to  with  so 
grave  and  sweet  a  patience.  When  all  went  right,  they 
rejoiced  to  see  Evelyn;  but  in  their  little  difficulties  and 
sorrows  nobody  was  like  "  my  good  Lady !  " 

So  Dame  Newman,  the  moment  she  saw  the  pale  counte- 
nance and  graceful  shape  of  Lady  Vargrave  at  the  threshold, 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight.  Now  she  could  let  out  all 
that  she  did  not  like  to  trouble  the  young  lady  with;  now  she 
could  complain  of  east  winds,  and  rheumatiz,  and  the  parish 
officers,  and  the  bad  tea  they  sold  poor  people  at  Mr.  Hart's 
shop,  and  the  ungrateful  grandson  who  was  so  well  to  do  and 
who  forgot  he  had  a  grandmother  alive ! 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  week  we  received  a  card  from  the  town  ladies. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

The  curate  was  gone,  and  the  lessons  suspended ;  otherwise 
—  as  like  each  to  each  as  sunshine  or  cloud  permitted  —  day 
followed  day  in  the  calm  retreat  of  Brook-Green,  —  when,  one 
morning,  Mrs.  Leslie,  with  a  letter  in  her  hand,  sought  Lady 
Vargrave,  who  was  busied  in  tending  the  flowers  of  a  small 
conservatory  which  she  had  added  to  the  cottage,  when,  from 
various  motives,  and  one  in  especial  powerful  and  mysterious, 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  16 

she  exchanged  for  so  sequestered  a  home  the  luxurious  villa 
bequeathed  to  her  by  her  husband. 

To  flowers  —  those  charming  children  of  Nature,  in  which 
our  age  can  take  the  same  tranquil  pleasure  as  our  youth  — 
Lady  Vargrave  devoted  much  of  her  monotonous  and  un- 
chequered  time.  She  seemed  to  love  them  almost  as  living 
things ;  and  her  memory  associated  them  with  hours  as  bright 
and  as  fleeting  as  themselves. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie,  "I  have  news  for  you. 
My  daughter,  Mrs.  Merton,  who  has  been  in  Cornwall  on  a 
visit  to  her  husband's  mother,  writes  me  word  that  she  will 

visit  us  on  her  road  home  to  the  Rectory  in  B shire.     She 

will  not  put  you  much  out  of  the  way,"  added  Mrs.  Leslie, 
smiling,  "for  Mr.  Merton  will  not  accompany  her;  she  only 
brings  her  daughter  Caroline,  a  lively,  handsome,  intelligent 
girl,  who  will  be  enchanted  with  Evelyn.  All  you  will  regret 
is,  that  she  comes  to  terminate  my  visit,  and  take  me  away 
with  her.  If  you  can  forgive  that  offence,  you  will  have 
nothing  else  to  pardon." 

Lady  Vargrave  replied  with  her  usual  simple  kindness ;  but 
she  was  evidently  nervous  at  the  visit  of  a  stranger  (for  she 
had  never  yet  seen  Mrs.  Merton),  and  still  more  distressed  at 
the  thought  of  losing  Mrs.  Leslie  a  week  or  two  sooner  than 
had  been  anticipated.  However,  Mrs.  Leslie  hastened  to  re- 
assure her.  Mrs.  Merton  was  so  quiet  and  good-natured,  the 
wife  of  a  country  clergyman  with  simple  tastes;  and  after 
all,  Mrs.  Leslie's  visit  might  last  as  long,  if  Lady  Vargrave 
would  be  contented  to  extend  her  hospitality  to  Mrs.  Merton 
and  Caroline. 

When  the  visit  was  announced  to  Evelyn,  her  young  heart 
was  susceptible  only  of  pleasure  and  curiosity.  She  had  no 
friend  of  her  own  age ;  she  was  sure  she  should  like  the  grand- 
child of  her  dear  Mrs.  Leslie. 

Evelyn,  who  had  learned  betimes,  from  the  affectionate 
solicitude  of  her  nature,  to  relieve  her  mother  of  such  few 
domestic  cares  as  a  home  so  quiet,  with  an  establishment  so 
regular,  could  afford,  gayly  busied  herself  in  a  thousand  little 
preparations.    She  filled  the  rooms  of  the  visitors  with  flowers 


IB  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

(not  dreaming  that  any  one  could  fancy  them  unwholesome), 
and  spread  the  tables  with  her  own  favourite  books,  and  had 
the  little  cottage  piano  in  her  own  dressing-room  removed 
into  Caroline's  —  Caroline  must  be  fond  of  music.  She  had 
some  doubts  of  transferring  a  cage  with  two  canaries  into 
Caroline's  room  also;  but  when  she  approached  the  cage  with 
that  intention,  the  birds  chirped  so  merrily,  and  seemed  so 
glad  to  see  her,  and  so  expectant  of  sugar,  that  her  heart  smote 
her  for  her  meditated  desertion  and  ingratitude.  No,  she 
could  not  give  up  the  canaries ;  but  the  glass  bowl  with  the 
goldfish  —  oh,  that  would  look  so  pretty  on  its  stand  just  by 
the  casement ;  and  the  fish  —  dull  things !  —  would  not  miss  her. 

The  morning,  the  noon,  the  probable  hour  of  the  important 
arrival  came  at  last ;  and  after  having  three  times  within  the 
last  half -hour  visited  the  rooms,  and  settled  and  unsettled  and 
settled  again  everything  before  arranged,  Evelyn  retired  to 
her  own  room  to  consult  her  wardrobe,  and  Margaret,  —  once 
her  nurse,  now  her  abigail.  Alas!  the  wardrobe  of  the  des- 
tined Lady  Vargrave  —  the  betrothed  of  a  rising  statesman,  a 
new  and  now  an  ostentatious  peer ;  the  heiress  of  the  wealthy 
Templeton  —  was  one  that  many  a  tradesman's  daughter  would 
have  disdained.  Evelyn  visited  so  little;  the  clergyman  of 
the  place,  and  two  old  maids  who  lived  most  respectably  on  a 
hundred  and  eighty  pounds  a  year,  in  a  cottage,  with  one 
maidservant,  two  cats,  and  a  footboy,  bounded  the  circle  of 
her  acquaintance.  Her  mother  was  so  indifferent  to  dress; 
she  herself  had  found  so  many  other  ways  of  spending  money ! 
—  but  Evelyn  was  not  now  more  philosophical  than  others  of 
her  age.  She  turned  from  muslin  to  muslin  —  from  the  col- 
oured to  the  white,  from  the  white  to  the  coloured  —  with 
pretty  anxiety  and  sorrowful  suspense.  At  last  she  decided 
on  the  newest,  and  when  it  was  on,  and  the  single  rose  set  in 
the  lustrous  and  beautiful  hair,  Carson  herself  could  not  have 
added  a  charm.  Happy  age!  Who  wants  the  arts  of  the 
milliner  at  seventeen? 

"  And  here,  miss ;  here  's  the  fine  necklace  Lord  Vargrave 
brought  down  when  my  lord  came  lastj  it  will  look  so 
grand!" 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  17 

The  emeralds  glittered  in  their  case;  Evelyn  looked  at 
them  irresolutely;  then,  as  she  looked,  a  shade  came  over 
her  forehead,  and  she  sighed,  and  closed  the  lid. 

"No,  Margaret,  I  do  not  want  it;  take  it  away." 

"  Oh,  dear,  miss !  what  would  my  lord  say  if  he  were  down ! 
And  they  are  so  beautiful !  they  will  look  so  fine !  Deary  me, 
how  they  sparkle !  But  you  will  wear  much  finer  when  you 
are  my  lady." 

"I  hear  Mamma's  bell;  go,  Margaret,  she  wants  you." 

Left  alone,  the  young  beauty  sank  down  abstractedly,  and 
though-the  looking-glass  was  opposite,  it  did  not  arrest  her 
eye;  she  forgot  her  wardrobe,  her  muslin  dress,  her  fears, 
and  her  guests. 

"Ah,"  she  thought,  "what  a  weight  of  dread  *[  feel  here 
when  I  think  of  Lord  Vargrave  and  this  fatal  engagement; 
and  every  day  I  feel  it  more  and  more.  To  leave  my  dear, 
dear  mother,  the  dear  cottage  —  oh!  I  never  can.  I  used  to 
like  him  when  I  was  a  child;  now  I  shudder  at  his  name. 
Why  is  this?  He  is  kind;  he  condescends  to  seek  to  please. 
It  was  the  wish  of  my  poor  father,  —  for  father  he  really  was 
to  me ;  and  yet  —  oh  that  he  had  left  me  poor  and  free !  " 

At  this  part  of  Evelyn's  meditation  the  unusual  sound  of 
wheels  was  heard  on  the  gravel;  she  started  up,  wiped  the 
tears  from  her  eyes,  and  hurried  down  to  welcome  the  expected 
guests. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Tell  me,  Sophy,  my  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  our  new  visitors  ? 

Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

Mrs.  Merton  and  her  daughter  were  already  in  the  middle 
drawing-room,  seated  on  either  side  of  Mrs.  Leslie, — the 
former  a  woman  of  quiet  and  pleasing  exterior,  her  face  still 
handsome,  and  if  not  intelligent,  at  least  expressive  of  sober 


18  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

good-nature  and  habitual  content;  the  latter  a  fine  dark -eyed 
girl,  of  decided  countenance,  and  what  is  termed  a  showy 
style  of  beauty,  —  tall,  self-possessed,  and  dressed  plainly 
indeed,  but  after  the  approved  fashion.  The  rich  bonnet  of 
the  large  shape  then  worn ;  the  Chantilly  veil ;  the  gay  French 
Cachemire;  the  full  sleeves,  at  that  time  the  unnatural  rage ; 
the  expensive  yet  unassuming  rohe  de  soie  ;  the  perfect  chaus- 
sure ;  the  air  of  society,  the  easy  manner,  the  tranquil  but 
scrutinizing  gaze,  —  all  startled,  discomposed,  and  half -fright- 
ened Evelyn. 

Miss  Merton  herself,  if  more  at  her  ease,  was  equally  sur- 
prised by  the  beauty  and  unconscious  grace  of  the  young  fairy 
before  her,  and  rose  to  greet  her  with  a  well-bred  cordiality, 
which  at  once  made  a  conquest  of  Evelyn's  heart. 

Mrs.  Merton  kissed  her  cheek,  and  smiled  kindly  on  her, 
but  said  little.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  she  was  a  less  con- 
versable and  more  homely  person  than  Caroline. 

When  Evelyn  conducted  them  to  their  rooms,  the  mother 
and  daughter  detected  at  a  glance  the  care  that  had  provided 
for  their  comforts;  and  something  eager  and  expectant  in 
Evelyn's  eyes  taught  the  good-nature  of  the  one  and  the  good 
breeding  of  the  other  to  reward  their  young  hostess  by  various 
little  exclamations  of  pleasure  and  satisfaction. 

"  Dear,  how  nice !  What  a  pretty  writing-desk !  "  said  one 
—  "And  the  pretty  goldfish!"  said  the  other — "And  the 
piano,  too,  so  well  placed;"  and  Caroline's  fair  fingers  ran 
rapidly  over  the  keys.  Evelyn  retired,  covered  with  smiles 
and  blushes.  And  then  Mrs.  Merton  permitted  herself  to  say 
to  the  well-dressed  abigail,  — 

"Do  take  away  those  flowers,  they  make  me  quite  faint." 

"  And  how  low  the  room  is,  —  so  confined !  "  said  Caroline, 
when  the  lady's  lady  withdrew  with  the  condemned  flowers. 
"  And  I  see  no  Pysche.  However,  the  poor  people  have  done 
their  best." 

"Sweet  person,  Lady  Vargrave!  "  said  Mrs.  Merton,  —"so 
interesting,  so  beautiful;  and  how  youthful  in  appearance!  " 

"  No  toumure  —  not  much  the  manner  of  the  world, "  said 
Caroline. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  19 

"No;  but  something  better." 

"  Hem !  "  said  Caroline.  "  The  girl  is  very  pretty,  though 
too  small." 

"  Such  a  smile,  such  eyes,  —  she  is  irresistible !  and  what  a 
fortune!     She  will  be  a  charming  friend  for  you,  Caroline." 

"  Yes,  she  may  be  useful,  if  she  marry  Lord  Vargrave ;  or, 
indeed,  if  she  make  any  brilliant  match.  What  sort  of  a  man 
is  Lord  Vargrave?" 

"I  never  saw  him;  they  say,  most  fascinating." 

"Well,  she  is  very  happy,"  said  Caroline,  with  a  sigh. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Two  lovely  damsels  cheer  my  lonely  waUc  —  Lamb  :  Album  Verses. 

After  dinner  there  was  still  light  enough  for  the  young 
people  to  stroll  through  the  garden.  Mrs.  Merton,  who  was 
afraid  of  the  damp,  preferred  staying  within ;  and  she  was  so 
quiet,  and  made  herself  so  much  at  home,  that  Lady  Vargrave, 
to  use  Mrs.  Leslie's  phrase,  was  not  the  least  "  put  out "  by 
her.  Besides,  she  talked  of  Evelyn,  and  that  was  a  theme 
very  dear  to  Lady  Vargrave,  who  was  both  fond  and  proud  of 
Evelyn. 

"This  is  very  pretty  indeed, — the  view  of  the  sea  quite 
lovely!"  said  Caroline.     "You  draw?" 

"Yes,  a  little." 

"From  Nature?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"What,  in  Indian  ink? " 

"Yes;  and  water-colours." 

"  Oh !  Why,  who  could  have  taught  you  in  this  little  vil- 
lage; or,  indeed,  in  this  most  primitive  county?" 

"  We  did  not  come  to  Brook-Green  till  I  was  nearly  fifteen. 
My  dear  mother,  though  very  anxious  to  leave  our  villa  at 


20  ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES. 

Fulham,  would  not  do  so  on  my  account,  while  masters  could 
be  of  service  to  me ;  and  as  I  knew  she  had  set  her  heart  on 
this  place,  I  worked  doubly  hard." 

"Then  she  knew  this  place  before?" 

"Yes;  she  had  been  here  many  years  ago,  and  took  the 
place  after  my  poor  father's  death,  — I  always  call  the  late 
Lord  Vargrave  my  father.  She  used  to  come  here  regularly 
once  a  year  without  me;  and  when  she  returned,  I  thought 
her  even  more  melancholy  than  before." 

"What  makes  the  charm  of  the  place  to  Lady  Vargrave?" 
asked  Caroline,  with  some  interest. 

"I  don't  know;  unless  it  be  its  extreme  quiet,  or  some  early 
association." 

"And  who  is  your  nearest  neighbour?  " 

"Mr.  Aubrey,  the  curate.  It  is  so  unlucky,  he  is  gone  from 
home  for  a  short  time.  You  can't  think  how  kind  and  pleas- 
ant he  is,  —  the  most  amiable  old  man  in  the  world ;  just  such 
a  man  as  Bernardin  St.  Pierre  would  have  loved  to  describe." 

"Agreeable,  no  doubt,  but  dull  —  good  curates  generally 
are." 

"Dull?  not  the  least;  cheerful  even  to  playfulness,  and 
full  of  information.  He  has  been  so  good  to  me  about  books; 
indeed,  I  have  learned  a  great  deal  from  him." 

"I  dare  say  he  is  an  admirable  judge  of  sermons." 

"But  Mr.  Aubrey  is  not  severe,"  persisted  Evelyn,  earn- 
estly ;  "  he  is  very  fond  of  Italian  literature,  for  instance ;  we 
are  reading  Tasso  together." 

"  Oh !  pity  he  is  old  —  I  think  you  said  he  was  old.  Per- 
haps there  is  a  son,  the  image  of  the  sire?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Evelyn,  laughing  innocently;  "Mr.  Aubrey 
never  married." 

"And  where  does  the  old  gentleman  live?" 

"  Come  a  little  this  way ;  there,  you  can  just  see  the  roof  of 
his  house,  close  by  the  church." 

"I  see;  it  is  tant  soit  peu  triste  to  have  the  church  so 
near  you." 

"Do  you  think  so?  Ah,  but  you  have  not  seen  it;  it  is  the 
prettiest  church  in  the  county ;  and  the  little  burial-ground  — 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  21 

so  quiet,  so  shut  in ;  I  feel  better  every  time  I  pass  it.  Some 
places  breathe  of  religion." 

"You  are  poetical,  my  dear  little  friend." 

Evelyn,  who  had  poetry  in  her  nature,  and  therefore  some- 
times it  broke  out  in  her  simple  language,  coloured  and  felt 
half -ashamed. 

"It  is  a  favourite  walk  with  my  mother,"  said  she,  apolo- 
getically ;  "  she  often  spends  hours  there  alone :  and  so,  per- 
haps, I  think  it  a  prettier  spot  than  others  may.  It  does  not 
seem  to  me^to  have  anything  of  gloom  in  it;  when  I  die,  I 
should  like  to  be  buried  there." 

Caroline  laughed  slightly.  "That  is  a  strange  wish;  but 
perhaps  you  have  been  crossed  in  love?" 

"I!  —  oh,  you  are  laughing  at  me !  " 

"You  do  not  remember  Mr.  Cameron,  your  real  father,  I 
suppose?" 

"No;  I  believe  he  died  before  I  was  born." 

"Cameron  is  a  Scotch  name:  to  what  tribe  of  Camerons 
do  you  belong?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Evelyn,  rather  embarrassed;  "indeed 
I  know  nothing  of  my  father's  or  mother's  family.  It  is  very 
odd,  but  I  don't  think  we  have  any  relations.  You  know 
when  I  am  of  age  that  I  am  to  take  the  name  of  Templeton." 

"  Ah,  the  name  goes  with  the  fortune ;  I  understand.  Dear 
Evelyn,  how  rich  you  will  be !     I  do  so  wish  I  were  rich  I  " 

"And  I  that  I  were  poor,"  said  Evelyn,  with  an  altered  tone 
and  expression  of  countenance. 

"Strange  girl!  what  can  you  mean?" 

Evelyn  said  nothing,  and  Caroline  examined  her  curiously. 

"  These  notions  come  from  living  so  much  out  of  the  world, 
my  dear  Evelyn.       How  you  must  long  to  see  more  of  life !  " 

"  I !  not  in  the  least.  I  should  never  like  to  leave  this  place, 
—  I  could  live  and  die  here." 

"  You  will  think  otherwise  when  you  are  Lady  Vargrave. 
Why  do  you  look  so  grave?    Do  you  not  love  Lord  Vargrave?  " 

"  What  a  question ! "  said  Evelyn,  turning  away  her  head, 
and  forcing  a  laugh. 

"It  is  no  matter  whether  you  do  or  not:  it  is  a  brilliant 


22  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

position.  He  has  rank,  reputation,  high  ofi&ce;  all  he  wants 
is  money,  and  that  you  will  give  him.  Alas!  I  have  no  pros- 
pect so  bright.  I  have  no  fortune,  and  I  fear  my  face  will 
never  buy  a  title,  an  opera-box,  and  a  house  in  Grosvenor 
Square.     I  wish  I  were  the  future  Lady  Vargrave." 

"I  am  sure  I  wish  you  were,"  said  Evelyn,  with  great 
naivete ;  "you  would  suit  Lord  Vargrave  better  than  I 
should." 

Caroline  laughed. 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"  Oh,  his  way  of  thinking  is  like  yours ;  he  never  says  any- 
thing I  can  sympathize  with." 

"A  pretty  compliment  to  me!  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear, 
you  will  sympathize  with  me  when  you  have  seen  as  much  of 
the  world.     But  Lord  Vargrave  —  is  he  too  old?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  of  his  age;  and  indeed  he  looks  younger 
than  he  is." 

"Is  he  handsome?" 

"  He  is  what  may  be  called  handsome,  —  you  would  think 
so." 

"  Well,  if  he  comes  here,  I  will  do  my  best  to  win  him  from 
you;  so  look  to  yourself." 

"  Oh,  I  should  be  so  grateful ;  I  should  like  him  so  much, 
if  he  would  fall  in  love  with  you!  " 

"I  fear  there  is  no  chance  of  that." 

"But  how,"  said  Evelyn,  hesitatingly,  after  a  pause, — 
"how  is  it  that  you  have  seen  so  much  more  of  the  world 
than  I  have?  I  thought  Mr.  Merton  lived  a  great  deal  in  the 
country." 

"Yes,  but  my  uncle,  Sir  John  Merton,  is  member  for  the 
county;  my  grandmother  on  my  father's  side  —  Lady  Eliza- 
beth, who  has  Tregony  Castle  (which  we  have  just  left)  for  her 
jointure-house  —  goes  to  town  almost  every  season,  and  I  have 
spent  three  seasons  with  her.  She  is  a  charming  old  woman, 
—  quite  the  grand  dame.  I  am  sorry  to  say  she  remains  in 
Cornwall  this  year.  She  has  not  been  very  well ;  the  physi- 
cians forbid  late  hours  and  London;  but  even  in  the  country 
we  are  very  gay.     My  uncle  lives  near  us,  and  though  a  wid- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES.  23 

ower,  has  his  house  full  when  down  at  Merton  Park;  and 
Papa,  too,  is  rich,  very  hospitable  and  popular,  and  will,  I 
hope,  be  a  bishop  one  of  these  days  —  not  at  all  like  a  mere 
country  parson;  and  so,  somehow  or  other,  I  have  learned  to 
be  ambitious,  —  we  are  an  ambitious  family  on  Papa's  side. 
But,  alas !  I  have  not  your  cards  to  play.  Young,  beautiful, 
and  an  heiress!  Ah,  what  prospects!  You  should  make 
your  mamma  take  you  to  town." 

"  To  town !  she  would  be  wretched  at  the  very  idea.  Oh, 
you  don't  know  us." 

"I  can't  help  fancying,  Miss  Evelyn,"  said  Caroline,  archly, 
"that  you  are  not  so  blind  to  Lord  Vargrave's  perfections  and 
so  indifferent  to  London,  only  from  the  pretty  innocent  way 
of  thinking,  that  so  prettily  and  innocently  you  express.  I 
dare  say,  if  the  truth  were  known,  there  is  some  handsome 
young  rector,  besides  the  old  curate,  who  plays  the  flute,  and 
preaches  sentimental  sermons  in  white  kid  gloves." 

Evelyn  laughed  merrily,  —  so  merrily  that  Caroline's  sus- 
picions vanished.  They  continued  to  walk  and  talk  thus  till 
the  night  came  on,  and  then  they  went  in ;  and  Evelyn  showed 
Caroline  her  drawings,  which  astonished  that  young  lady,  who 
was  a  good  judge  of  accomplishments.  Evelyn's  performance 
on  the  piano  astonished  her  yet  more;  but  Caroline  consoled 
herself  on  this  point,  for  her  voice  was  more  powerful,  and 
she  sang  French  songs  with  much  more  spirit.  Caroline 
showed  talent  in  all  she  undertook;  but  Evelyn,  despite  her 
simplicity,  had  genius,  though  as  yet  scarcely  developed,  for 
she  had  quickness,  emotion,  susceptibility,  imagination.  And 
the  difference  between  talent  and  genius  lies  rather  in  the 
heart  than  the  head. 


24  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Dost  thon  feel 
The  solemn  whispering  influence  of  the  scene 
Oppressing  thy  young  heart,  that  thou  dost  draw 
More  closely  to  my  side  ?  —  F.  Hemans  :   Wood  Walk  and  Hymn. 

Caroline  and  Evelyn,  as  was  natural,  became  great  friends. 
They  were  not  kindred  to  each  other  in  disposition ;  but  they 
were  thrown  together,  and  friendship  thus  forced  upon  both. 
Unsuspecting  and  sanguine,  it  was  natural  to  Evelyn  to  ad- 
mire; and  Caroline  was,  to  her  inexperience,  a  brilliant  and 
imposing  novelty.  Sometimes  Miss  Merton's  worldliness  of 
thought  shocked  Evelyn;  but  then  Caroline  had  a  way  with 
her  as  if  she  were  not  in  earnest,  —  as  if  she  were  merely 
indulging  an  inclination  towards  irony;  nor  was  she  without 
a  certain  vein  of  sentiment  that  persons  a  little  hackneyed  in 
the  world  and  young  ladies  a  little  disappointed  that  they  are 
not  wives  instead  of  maids,  easily  acquire.  Trite  as  this  vein 
of  sentiment  was,  poor  Evelyn  thought  it  beautiful  and  most 
feeling.  Then,  Caroline  was  clever,  entertaining,  cordial, 
with  all  that  superficial  superiority  that  a  girl  of  twenty- 
three  who  knows  London  readily  exercises  over  a  country  girl 
of  seventeen.  On  the  other  hand,  Caroline  was  kind  and  affec- 
tionate towards  her.  The  clergyman's  daughter  felt  that  she 
could  not  be  always  superior,  even  in  fashion,  to  the  wealthy 
heiress. 

One  evening,  as  Mrs.  Leslie  and  Mrs.  Merton  sat  under  the 
veranda  of  the  cottage,  without  their  hostess,  who  had  gone 
alone  into  the  village,  and  the  young  ladies  were  confidentially 
conversing  on  the  lawn,  Mrs.  Leslie  said  rather  abruptly,  "  Is 
not  Evelyn  a  delightful  creature?  How  unconscious  of  her 
beauty ;  how  simple,  and  yet  so  naturally  gifted !  " 

"I  have  never  seen  one  who  interested  me  more,"  said  Mrs. 
Merton,  settling  her  pelerine  ;  "she  is  extremely  pretty." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  26 

"I  am  so  anxious  about  her,"  resumed  Mrs.  Leslie,  thought- 
fully. "  You  know  the  wish  of  the  late  Lord  Vargrave  that 
she  should  marry  his  nephew,  the  present  lord,  when  she 
reaches  the  age  of  eighteen.  She  only  wants  nine  or  ten 
months  of  that  time ;  she  has  seen  nothing  of  the  world :  she 
is  not  fit  to  decide  for  herself;  and  Lady  Vargrave,  the  best  of 
human  creatures,  is  still  herself  almost  too  inexperienced  in 
the  world  to  be  a  guide  for  one  so  young  placed  in  such  pecul- 
iar circumstances,  and  of  prospects  so  brilliant.  Lady  Var- 
grave at  heart  is  a  child  still,  and  will  be  so  even  when  as  old 
as  I  am." 

"It  is  very  true,"  said  Mrs.  Merton.  "Don't  you  fear 
that  the  girls  will  catch  cold?  The  dew  is  falling,  and  the 
grass  must  be  wet." 

"I  have  thought,"  continued  Mrs.  Leslie,  without  heeding 
the  latter  part  of  Mrs.  Merton's  speech,  "that  it  would  be  a 
kind  thing  to  invite  Evelyn  to  stay  with  you  a  few  months  at 
the  Rectory.  To  be  sure,  it  is  not  like  London;  but  you  see 
a  great  deal  of  the  world.  The  society  at  your  house  is  well 
selected,  and  at  times  even  brilliant;  she  will  meet  young 
people  of  her  own  age,  and  young  people  fashion  and  form 
each  other." 

"I  was  thinking  myself  that  I  should  like  to  invite  her," 
said  Mrs.  Merton;  "I  will  consult  Caroline." 

"Caroline,  I  am  sure,  would  be  delighted;  the  difficulty  lies 
rather  in  Evelyn  herself." 

"You  surprise  me!  she  must  be  moped  to  death  here." 

"But  will  she  leave  her  mother?" 

"Why,  Caroline  often  leaves  me,"  said  Mrs.  Merton. 

Mrs.  Leslie  was  silent,  and  Evelyn  and  her  new  friend  now 
joined  the  mother  and  daughter. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  persuade  Evelyn  to  pay  us  a  little 
visit,"  said  Caroline;  "she  could  accompany  us  so  nicely;  and 
if  she  is  still  strange  with  us,  dear  grandmamma  goes  too,  — 
I  am  sure  we  can  make  her  at  home." 

"How  odd!"  said  Mrs.  Merton;  "we  were  just  saying  the 
same  thing.  My  dear  Miss  Cameron,  we  should  be  so  happy 
to  have  you." 


26  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"  And  I  should  be  so  happy  to  go,  if  Mamma  would  but  go 
too." 

As  she  spoke,  the  moon,  just  risen,  showed  the  form  of 
Lady  Vargrave  slowly  approaching  the  house.  By  the  light, 
her  features  seemed  more  pale  than  usual ;  and  her  slight  and 
delicate  form,  with  its  gliding  motion  and  noiseless  step,  had 
in  it  something  almost  ethereal  and  unearthly. 

Evelyn  turned  and  saw  her,  and  her  heart  smote  her.  Her 
mother,  so  wedded  to  the  dear  cottage  —  and  had  this  gay 
stranger  rendered  that  dear  cottage  less  attractive,  —  she  who 
had  said  she  could  live  and  die  in  its  humble  precincts? 
Abruptly  she  left  her  new  friend,  hastened  to  her  mother, 
and  threw  her  arms  fondly  round  her. 

"You  are  pale;  you  have  over-fatigued  yourself.  Where 
have  you  been?    Why  did  you  not  take  me  with  you?" 

Lady  Vargrave  pressed  Evelyn's  hand  affectionately. 

"You  care  for  me  too  much,"  said  she.  "I  am  but  a  dull 
companion  for  you;  I  was  so  glad  to  see  you  happy  with  one 
better  suited  to  your  gay  spirits.  What  can  we  do  when  she 
leaves  us?" 

"Ah,  I  want  no  companion  but  my  own,  own  mother.  And 
have  I  not  Sultan,  too?  "  added  Evelyn,  smiling  away  the  tear 
that  had  started  to  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Friend  after  friend  departs  ; 

Who  hath  not  lost  a  friend  ? 
There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts 

That  finds  not  here  an  end.  —  J.  Montgomery. 

That  night  Mrs.  Leslie  sought  Lady  Vargrave  in  her  own 
room.  As  she  entered  gently  she  observed  that,  late  as  the 
hour  was.  Lady  Vargrave  was  stationed  by  the  open  window, 
and  seemed  intently  gazing  on  the  scene  below.     Mrs.  Leslie 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  27 

reached  her  side  unperceived.  The  moonlight  was  exceed- 
ingly bright;  and  just  beyond  the  garden,  from  which  it  was 
separated  but  by  a  slight  fence,  lay  the  solitary  churchyard 
of  the  hamlet,  with  the  slender  spire  of  the  holy  edifice  rising 
high  and  tapering  into  the  shining  air.  It  was  a  calm  and 
tranquillizing  scene;  and  so  intent  was  Lady  Vargrave's 
abstracted  gaze,  that  Mrs.  Leslie  was  unwilling  to  disturb 
her  revery. 

At  length  Lady  Vargrave  turned;  and  there  was  that 
patient  and^  pathetic  resignation  written  in  her  countenance 
which  belongs  to  those  whom  the  world  can  deceive  no  more, 
and  who  have  fixed  their  hearts  in  the  life  beyond. 

Mrs.  Leslie,  whatever  she  thought  or  felt,  said  nothing, 
except  in  kindly  remonstrance  on  the  indiscretion  of  braving 
the  night  air.  The  window  was  closed;  they  sat  down  to 
confer. 

Mrs.  Leslie  repeated  the  invitation  given  to  Evelyn,  and 
urged  the  advisability  of  accepting  it.  "  It  is  cruel  to  sepa- 
rate you, "  said  she ;  "  I  feel  it  acutely.  Why  not,  then,  come 
with  Evelyn?  You  shake  your  head:  wh}"-  always  avoid  soci- 
ety?   So  young,  yet  you  give  yourself  too  much  to  the  past!" 

Lady  Vargrave  rose,  and  walked  to  a  cabinet  at  the  end  of 
the  room;  she  unlocked  it,  and  beckoned  to  Mrs.  Leslie  to 
approach.  In  a  drawer  lay  carefully  folded  articles  of  female 
dress,  —  rude,  homely,  ragged,  —  the  dress  of  a  peasant  girl. 

"Do  these  remind  you  of  your  first  charity  to  me?"  she 
said  touchingly:  "they  tell  me  that  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  world  in  which  you  and  yours,  and  Evelyn  herself, 
should  move." 

"  Too  tender  conscience !  —  your  errors  were  but  those  of 
circumstances,  of  youth ;  —  how  have  they  been  redeemed ! 
none  even  suspect  them.  Your  past  history  is  known  but  to 
the  good  old  Aubrey  and  myself.  No  breath,  even  of  rumour, 
tarnishes  the  name  of  Lady  Vargrave." 

"Mrs.  Leslie,"  said  Lady  Vargrave,  reclosing  the  cabinet, 
and  again  seating  herself,  "my  world  lies  around  me;  I  can- 
not quit  it.  If  I  were  of  use  to  Evelyn,  then  indeed  I  would 
_  sacrifice,  brave  all ;  but  I  only  cloud  her  spirits.     I  have  no 


28  ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

advice  to  give  her,  no  instruction  to  bestow.  When  she  was 
a  child  I  could  watch  over  her;  when  she  was  sick,  I  could 
nurse  her;  but  now  she  requires  an  adviser,  a  guide;  and  I 
feel  too  sensibly  that  this  task  is  beyond  my  powers.  I,  a 
guide  to  youth  and  innocence,  —  //  No,  I  have  nothing  to 
offer  her,  dear  child!  but  my  love  and  my  prayers.  Let  your 
daughter  take  her,  then,  —  watch  over  her,  guide,  advise  her. 
For  me  —  unkind,  ungrateful  as  it  may  seem  —  were  she  but 
happy,  I  could  well  bear  to  be  alone ! " 

"  But  she  —  how  will  she,  who  loves  you  so,  submit  to  this 
separation?" 

"It  will  not  be  long;  and,"  added  Lady  Vargrave,  with  a 
serious,  yet  sweet  smile,  "  she  had  better  be  prepared  for  that 
separation  which  must  come  at  last.  As  year  by  year  I  out- 
live my  last  hope,  —  that  of  once  more  beholding  him,  —  I 
feel  that  life  becomes  feebler  and  feebler,  and  I  look  more  on 
that  quiet  churchyard  as  a  home  to  which  I  am  soon  return- 
ing. At  all  events,  Evelyn  will  be  called  upon  to  form  new 
ties  that  must  estrange  her  from  me;  let  her  wean  herself 
from  one  so  useless  to  her,  to  all  the  world,  —  now,  and  by 
degrees." 

"Speak  not  thus,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie,  strongly  affected;  "you 
have  many  years  of  happiness  yet  in  store  for  you.  The  more 
you  recede  from  youth,  the  fairer  life  will  become  to  you." 

"God  is  good  to  me,"  said  the  lady,  raising  her  meek  eyes; 
"and  I  have  already  found  it  so.     I  am  contented." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  greater  part  of  them  seemed  to  be  charmed  with  his  presence. 

Mackenzie:  The  Man  of  the  World. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  Evelyn  could  at  last 
be  persuaded  to  consent  to  the  separation  from  her  mother; 
she  wept  bitterly  at  the  thought.    But  Lady  Vargrave,  though 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  29 

touched,  was  firm,  and  her  firmness  was  of  that  soft,  implor- 
ing character  which  Evelyn  never  could  resist.  The  visit 
was  to  last  some  months,  it  is  true,  but  she  would  return  to 
the  cottage;  she  would  escape,  too  —  and  this,  perhaps,  un- 
consciously reconciled  her  more  than  aught  else  —  the  period- 
ical visit  of  Lord  Vargrave.  At  the  end  of  July,  when  the 
parliamentary  session  at  that  unreformed  era  usually  expired, 
he  always  came  to  Brook-Green  for  a  month.  His  last  visits 
had  been  most  unwelcome  to  Evelyn,  and  this  next  visit  she 
dreaded  more  than  she  had  any  of  the  former  ones.  It  is 
strange,  —  the  repugnance  with  which  she  regarded  the  suit 
of  her  affianced !  —  she,  whose  heart  was  yet  virgin ;  who  had 
never  seen  any  one  who,  in  form,  manner,  and  powers  to 
please,  could  be  compared  to  the  gay  Lord  Vargrave.  And 
yet  a  sense  of  honour,  of  what  was  due  to  her  dead  benefactor, 
her  more  than  father,  —  all  combated  that  repugnance,  and 
left  her  uncertain  what  course  to  pursue,  uncalculating  as  to 
the  future.  In  the  happy  elasticity  of  her  spirits,  and  with 
a  carelessness  almost  approaching  to  levity,  which,  to  say 
truth,  was  natural  to  her,  she  did  not  often  recall  the  solemn 
engagement  that  must  soon  be  ratified  or  annulled ;  but  when 
that  thought  did  occur,  it  saddened  her  for  hours,  and  left  her 
listless  and  despondent.  The  visit  to  Mrs.  Merton  was,  then, 
finally  arranged,  the  day  of  departure  fixed,  when,  one  morn- 
ing, came  the  following  letter  from  Lord  Vargrave  himself :  — 

To  the  Lady  Vargrave,  etc. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  I  find  that  we  have  a  week's  holiday  in  our  do, 
nothing  Chamber,  and  the  weather  is  so  delightful,  that  I  long  to  share 
its  enjoyment  with  those  I  love  best.  You  will,  therefore,  see  me  almost 
as  soon  as  you  receive  this  ;  that  is,  I  shall  be  with  you  at  dinner  on  the 
same  day.  What  can  I  say  to  Evelyn  ?  Will  you,  dearest  Lady 
Vargrave,  make  her  accept  all  the  homage  which,  when  uttered  by  me, 
she  seems  half  inclined  to  reject  ? 

In  haste,  most  affectionately  yours, 

Vargrave. 

Hamilton  Place,  April  30,  18 — . 

This  letter  was  by  no  means  welcome,  either  to  Mrs.  Leslie 
or  to  Evelyn.     The  former  feared  that  Lord  Vargrave  would 


80  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

disapprove  of  a  visit,  the  real  objects  of  whicli  could  scarcely 
be  owned  to  him;  the  latter  was  reminded  of  all  she  desired 
to  forget.  But  Lady  Vargrave  herself  rather  rejoiced  at  the 
thought  of  Lumley's  arrival.  Hitherto,  in  the  spirit  of  her 
passive  and  gentle  character,  she  had  taken  the  engagement 
between  Evelyn  and  Lord  Vargrave  almost  as  a  matter  of 
course.  The  will  and  wish  of  her  late  husband  operated  most 
powerfully  on  her  mind;  and  while  Evelyn  was  yet  in  child- 
hood, Lumley's  visits  had  ever  been  acceptable,  and  the  play- 
ful girl  liked  the  gay  and  good-humoured  lord,  who  brought 
her  all  sorts  of  presents,  and  appeared  as  fond  of  dogs  as  her- 
self.  But  Evelyn's  recent  change  of  manner,  her  frequent  fits 
of  dejection  and  thought,  once  pointed  out  to  Lady  Vargrave 
by  Mrs.  Leslie,  aroused  all  the  affectionate  and  maternal  anx- 
iety of  the  former.  She  was  resolved  to  watch,  to  examine, 
to  scrutinize,  not  only  Evelyn's  reception  of  Vargrave,  but,  as 
far  as  she  could,  the  manner  and  disposition  of  Vargrave  him- 
self. She  felt  how  solemn  a  trust  was  the  happiness  of  a 
whole  life;  and  she  had  that  romance  of  heart,  learned  from 
Nature,  not  in  books,  which  made  her  believe  that  there  could 
be  no  happiness  in  a  marriage  without  love. 

The  whole  family  party  were  on  the  lawn,  when,  an  hour 
earlier  than  he  was  expected,  the  travelling  carriage  of  Lord 
Vargrave  was  whirled  along  the  narrow  sweep  that  conducted 
from  the  lodge  to  the  house.  Vargrave,  as  he  saw  the  party, 
kissed  his  hand  from  the  window ;  and  leaping  from  the  car- 
riage, when  it  stopped  at  the  porch,  hastened  to  meet  his 
hostess. 

"My  dear  Lady  Vargrave,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!  You 
are  looking  charmingly;  and  Evelyn?  —  oh,  there  she  is;  the 
dear  coquette,  how  lovely  she  is !  how  she  has  improved !  But 
who  [sinking  his  voice],  who  are  those  ladies?  " 

"Guests  of  ours,  — Mrs.  Leslie,  whom  you  have  often  heard 
us  speak  of,  but  never  met  —  " 

"Yes;  and  the  others?" 

"Her  daughter  and  grandchild." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  know  them." 

A  more  popular  manner  than  Lord  Vargrave's  it  is  impos- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  81 

sible  to  conceive.  Frank  and  prepossessing,  even  when  the 
poor  and  reckless  Mr.  Ferrers,  without  rank  or  reputation,  his 
smile,  the  tone  of  his  voice,  his  familiar  courtesy, — appar- 
ently so  inartificial  and  approaching  almost  to  a  boyish 
bluntness  of  good-humour,  —  were  irresistible  in  the  rising 
statesman  and  favoured  courtier. 

Mrs.  Merton  was  enchanted  with  him;  Caroline  thought 
him,  at  the  first  glance,  the  most  fascinating  person  she  had 
ever  seen;  even  Mrs.  Leslie,  more  grave,  cautious,  and  pene- 
trating, was  almost  equally  pleased  with  the  first  impression; 
and  it  was  not  till,  in  his  occasional  silence,  his  features  set- 
tled into  their  natural  expression  that  she  fancied  she  detected 
in  the  quick  suspicious  eye  and  the  close  compression  of  the 
lips  the  tokens  of  that  wily,  astute,  and  worldly  character, 
which,  in  proportion  as  he  had  risen  in  his  career,  even  his 
own  party  reluctantly  a;id  mysteriously  assigned  to  one  of 
their  most  prominent  leaders. 

When  Vargrave  took  Evelyn's  hand,  and  raised  it  with 
meaning  gallantry  to  his  lips,  the  girl  first  blushed  deeply, 
and  then  turned  pale  as  death;  nor  did  the  colour  thus  chased 
away  soon  return  to  the  transparent  cheek.  Not  noticing 
signs  which  might  bear  a  twofold  interpretation,  Lumley, 
who  seemed  in  high  spirits,  rattled  away  on  a  thousand  mat- 
ters, —  praising  the  view,  the  weather,  the  journey,  throwing 
out  a  joke  here  and  a  compliment  there,  and  completing  his 
conquest  over  Mrs.  Merton  and  Caroline. 

"You  have  left  London  in  the  very  height  of  its  gayety. 
Lord  Vargrave,"  said  Caroline,  as  they  sat  conversing  after 
dinner. 

"  True,  Miss  Merton ;  but  the  country  is  in  the  height  of  its 
gayety  too." 

"Are  you  so  fond  of  the  country,  then?  " 

"  By  fits  and  starts ;  my  passion  for  it  comes  in  with  the 
early  strawberries,  and  goes  out  with  the  hautboys.  I  lead  so 
artificial  a  life ;  but  then  I  hope  it  is  a  useful  one.  I  want 
nothing  but  a  home  to  make  it  a  happy  one." 

"What  is  the  latest  news?  —  dear  London!  I  am  so  sorry 
Grandmamma,  Lady  Elizabeth,  is  not  going  there  this  year, 


32  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

so  I  am  compelled  to  rusticate.     Is  Lady  Jane  D to  be 

married  at  last?" 

"Commend  me  to  a  young  lady's  idea  of  news, — always 

marriage!     Lady  Jane  D !  yes,  she  is  to  be  married,  as 

you  say  —  at  last !  While  she  was  a  beauty,  our  cold  sex  was 
shy  of  her ;  but  she  has  now  faded  into  plainness,  —  the  proper 
colour  for  a  wife." 

"  Complimentary ! " 

"  Indeed  it  is  —  for  you  beautiful  women  we  love  too  much 
for  our  own  happiness  —  heigho !  —  and  a  prudent  marriage 
means  friendly  indifference,  not  rapture  and  despair.  But 
give  me  beauty  and  love ;  I  never  was  prudent :  it  is  not  my 
weakness." 

Though  Caroline  was  his  sole  supporter  in  this  dialogue, 
Lord  Vargrave's  eyes  attempted  to  converse  with  Evelyn,  who 
was  unusually  silent  and  abstracted.  Suddenly  Lord  Vargrave 
seemed  aware  that  he  was  scarcely  general  enough  in  his  talk 
for  his  hearers.  He  addressed  himself  to  Mrs.  Leslie,  and 
glided  back,  as  it  were,  into  a  former  generation.  He  spoke 
of  persons  gone  and  things  forgotten;  he  made  the  subject 
interesting  even  to  the  young,  by  a  succession  of  various  and 
sparkling  anecdotes.  No  one  could  be  more  agreeable;  even 
Evelyn  now  listened  to  him  with  pleasure,  for  to  all  women 
wit  and  intellect  have  their  charm.  But  still  there  was  a  cold 
and  sharp  levity  in  the  tone  of  the  man  of  the  world  that  pre- 
vented the  charm  sinking  below  the  surface.  To  Mrs.  Leslie 
he  seemed  unconsciously  to  betray  a  laxity  of  principle;  to 
Evelyn,  a  want  of  sentiment  and  heart.  Lady  Vargrave,  who 
did  not  understand  a  character  of  this  description,  listened 
attentively,  and  said  to  herself,  "Evelyn  may  admire,  but  I 
fear  she  cannot  love  him."  Still,  time  passed  quickly  in 
Lumley's  presence,  and  Caroline  thought  she  had  never  spent 
so  pleasant  an  evening. 

When  Lord  Vargrave  retired  to  his  room,  he  threw  himself 
in  his  chair,  and  yawned  with  exceeding  fervour.  His  ser- 
vant arranged  his  dressing-robe,  and  placed  his  portfolios  and 
letter-boxes  on  the  table. 

"What  o'clock  is  it?"  said  Lumley. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  33 

"Very  early,  my  lord;  only  eleven." 

"The  devil!  The  country  air  is  wonderfully  exhausting. 
I  am  very  sleepy;  you  may  go." 

"This  little  girl,"  said  Lumley,  stretching  himself,  "is 
preternaturally  shy.  I  must  neglect  her  no  longer  —  yet  it 
is  surely  all  safe?  She  has  grown  monstrous  pretty;  but  the 
other  girl  is  more  amusing,  more  to  my  taste,  and  a  much 
easier  conquest,  I  fancy.  Her  great  dark  eyes  seem  full  of 
admiration  for  my  lordship.  Sensible  young  woman !  she  may 
be  useful  in  piquing  Evelyn." 


CHAPTER  X. 

Julio.     Wilt  thou  have  him  ?  —  The  Maid  in  the  Mill. 

Lord  Vargrave  heard  the  next  morning,  with  secret  dis- 
taste and  displeasure,  of  Evelyn's  intended  visit  to  the  Mer- 
tons.  He  could  scarcely  make  any  open  objection  to  it ;  but  he 
did  not  refrain  from  many  insinuations  as  to  its  impropriety. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  he  to  Lady  Vargrave,  "it  is  scarcely 
right  in  you  (pardon  me  for  saying  it)  to  commit  Evelyn  to 
the  care  of  comparative  strangers.  Mrs.  Leslie,  indeed,  you 
know;  but  Mrs.  Merton,  you  allow,  you  have  now  seen  for  the 
first  time.  A  most  respectable  person  doubtless;  but  still, 
recollect  how  young  Evelyn  is,  how  rich ;  what  a  prize  to  any 
younger  sons  in  the  Merton  family  (if  such  there  be).  Miss 
Merton  herself  is  a  shrewd,  worldly  girl ;  and  if  she  were  of 
our  sex  would  make  a  capital  fortune-hunter.  Don't  think 
my  fear  is  selfish;  I  do  not  speak  for  myself.  If  I  were 
Evelyn's  brother,  I  should  be  yet  more  earnest  in  my 
remonstrance." 

"But,  Lord  Vargrave,  poor  Evelyn  is  dull  here;  my  spirits 
infect  hers.  She  ought  to  mix  more  with  those  of  her  own 
age,  to  see  more  of  the  world  before  —  before  —  " 

"Before  her  marriage  with  me?    Forgive  me,  but  is  not 

3 


34  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

that  my  affair?  If  I  am  contented,  nay,  charmed  with  her 
innocence,  if  I  prefer  it  to  all  the  arts  which  society  could 
teach  her,  surely  you  would  be  acquitted  for  leaving  her  in 
the  beautiful  simplicity  that  makes  her  chief  fascination? 
She  will  see  enough  of  the  world  as  Lady  Vargrave." 

"  But  if  she  should  resolve  never  to  be  Lady  Vargrave  —  ?  " 

Lumley  started,  bit  his  lip,  and  frowned.  Lady  Vargrave 
had  never  before  seen  on  his  countenance  the  dark  expression 
it  now  wore.  He  recollected  and  recovered  himself,  as  he 
observed  her  eye  fixed  upon  him,  and  said,  with  a  constrained 
smile,  — 

"  Can  you  anticipate  an  event  so  fatal  to  my  happiness,  so 
unforeseen,  so  opposed  to  all  my  poor  uncle's  wishes,  as  Eve- 
lyn's rejection  of  a  suit  pursued  for  years,  and  so  solemnly 
sanctioned  in  her  very  childhood?  " 

**  She  must  decide  for  herself,"  said  Lady  Vargrave.  "  Your 
uncle  carefully  distinguished  between  a  wish  and  a  command. 
Her  heart  is  as  yet  untouched.  If  she  can  love  you,  may  you 
deserve  her  affection." 

"  It  shall  be  my  study  to  do  so.  But  why  this  departure 
from  your  roof  just  when  we  ought  to  see  most  of  each  other? 
It  cannot  be  that  you  would  separate  us?  " 

*'  I  fear.  Lord  Vargrave,  that  if  Evelyn  were  to  remain  here, 
she  would  decide  against  you.  I  fear  if  you  press  her  now, 
such  now  may  be  her  premature  decision.  Perhaps  this  arises 
from  too  fond  an  attachment  for  her  home;  perhaps  even  a 
short  absence  from  her  home  —  from  me  —  may  more  reconcile 
her  to  a  permanent  separation. " 

Vargrave  could  say  no  more,  for  here  they  were  joined  by 
Caroline  and  Mrs.  Merton;  but  his  manner  was  changed,  nor 
could  he  recover  the  gayety  of  the  previous  night. 

When,  however,  he  found  time  for  meditation,  he  contrived 
to  reconcile  himself  to  the  intended  visit.  He  felt  that  it  was 
easy  to  secure  the  friendship  of  the  whole  of  the  Merton 
family;  and  that  friendship  might  be  more  useful  to  him 
than  the  neutral  part  adopted  by  Lady  Vargrave.  He  should, 
of  course,  be  invited  to  the  rectory;  it  was  much  nearer  Lon- 
don than  Lady  Vargrave's  cottage,  he  could  more  often  escape 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  86 

from  public  cares  to  superintend  his  private  interest.  A  coun- 
try neighbourhood,  particularly  at  that  season  of  the  year,  was 
not  likely  to  abound  in  very  dangerous  rivals.  Evelyn  would, 
he  saw,  be  surrounded  by  a  worldly  family,  and  he  thought 
that  an  advantage;  it  might  serve  to  dissipate  Evelyn's 
romantic  tendencies,  and  make  her  sensible  of  the  pleasures 
of  the  London  life,  the  official  rank,  the  gay  society  that  her 
union  with  him  would  offer  as  an  equivalent  for  her  fortune. 
In  short,  as  was  his  wont,  he  strove  to  make  the  best  of  the 
new  turn  affairs  had  taken.  Though  guardian  to  Miss  Came- 
ron, and  one  of  the  trustees  for  the  fortune  she  was  to  receive 
on  attaining  her  majority,  he  had  not  the  right  to  dictate  as  to 
her  residence.  The  late  lord's  will  had  expressly  and  point- 
edly corroborated  the  natural  and  lawful  authority  of  Lady 
Vargrave  in  all  matters  connected  with  Evelyn's  education 
and  home.  It  may  be  as  well,  in  this  place,  to  add,  that  to 
Vargrave  and  the  co-trustee,  Mr.  Gustavus  Douce,  a  banker 
of  repute  and  eminence,  the  testator  left  large  discretionary 
powers  as  to  the  investment  of  the  fortune.  He  had  stated  it 
as  his  wish  that  from  one  hundred  and  twenty  to  one  hundred 
and  thirty  thousand  pounds  should  be  invested  in  the  pur- 
chase of  a  landed  estate ;  but  he  had  left  it  to  the  discretion 
of  the  trustees  to  increase  that  sum,  even  to  the  amount  of  the 
whole  capital,  should  an  estate  of  adequate  importance  be  in 
the  market,  while  the  selection  of  time  and  purchase  was  un- 
reservedly confided  to  the  trustees.  Vargrave  had  hitherto 
objected  to  every  purchase  in  the  market,  —  not  that  he  was 
insensible  to  the  importance  and  consideration  of  landed  prop- 
erty, but  because,  till  he  himself  became  the  legal  receiver  of 
the  income,  he  thought  it  less  trouble  to  suffer  the  money  to 
lie  in  the  Funds,  than  to  be  pestered  with  all  the  onerous 
details  in  the  management  of  an  estate  that  might  never  be 
his.  He,  however,  with  no  less  ardour  than  his  deceased  rela- 
tive, looked  forward  to  the  time  when  the  title  of  Vargrave 
should  be  based  upon  the  venerable  foundation  of  feudal 
manors  and  seignorial  acres. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  Lord  Vargrave  was  so  charm- 
ing? "  said  Caroline  to  Evelyn,  as  the  two  girls  were  saunter- 


86  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

ing,  in  familiar  tete-a-tete,  along  the  gardens.  "  You  will  be 
very  happy  with  such  a  companion." 

Evelyn  made  no  answer  for  a  few  moments,  and  then, 
turning  abruptly  round  to  Caroline,  and  stopping  short,  she 
said,  with  a  kind  of  tearful  eagerness,  "Dear  Caroline,  you 
are  so  wise,  so  kind  too;  advise  me,  tell  me  what  is  best.  I 
am  very  unhappy." 

Miss  Merton  was  moved  and  surprised  by  Evelyn's 
earnestness. 

"But  what  is  it,  my  poor  Evelyn,"  said  she;  "why  are  you 
unhappy?  —  you  whose  fate  seems  to  me  so  enviable." 

"I  cannot  love  Lord  Vargrave;  I  recoil  from  the  idea  of 
marrying  him.  Ought  I  not  fairly  to  tell  him  so?  Ought  I 
not  to  say  that  I  cannot  fulfil  the  wish  that  —  oh,  there  's  the 
thought  which  leaves  me  so  irresolute! —  His  uncle  be- 
queathed to  me  —  me  who  have  no  claim  of  relationship  — 
the  fortune  that  should  have  been  Lord  Vargrave's,  in  the 
belief  that  my  hand  would  restore  it  to  him.  It  is  almost  a 
fraud  to  refuse  him.     Am  I  not  to  be  pitied?  " 

"But  why  can  you  not  love  Lord  Vargrave?  If  past  the 
premiere  jeunesse,  he  is  still  handsome.  He  is  more  than 
handsome,  —  he  has  the  air  of  rank,  an  eye  that  fascinates,  a 
smile  that  wins,  the  manners  that  please,  the  abilities  that 
command,  the  world!  Handsome,  clever,  admired,  distin- 
guished —  what  can  woman  desire  more  in  her  lover,  her  hus- 
band ?  Have  you  ever  formed  some  fancy,  some  ideal  of  the 
one  you  could  love,  and  how  does  Lord  Vargrave  fall  short  of 
the  vision?" 

"Have  I  ever  formed  an  ideal?  — oh,  yes!"  said  Evelyn, 
with  a  beautiful  enthusiasm  that  lighted  up  her  eyes,  blushed 
in  her  cheek,  and  heaved  her  bosom  beneath  its  robe;  "some- 
thing that  in  loving  I  could  also  revere,  —  a  mind  that  would 
elevate  my  own;  a  heart  that  could  sympathize  with  my  weak- 
ness, my  follies,  my  romance,  if  you  will;  and  in  which  I 
could  treasure  my  whole  soul." 

"You  paint  a  schoolmaster,  not  a  lover!"  said  Caroline. 
"You  do  not  care,  then,  whether  this  hero  be  handsome  or 
young?  " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  37 

"Oh,  yes,  he  should  be  both,"  said  Evelyn,  innocently; 
"and  yet,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  and  with  an  infantine 
playfulness  of  manner  and  countenance,  "I  know  you  will 
laugh  at  me,  but  I  think  I  could  be  in  love  with  more  than 
one  at  the  same  time !  " 

"A  common  case,  but  a  rare  confession!  " 

"  Yes ;  for  if  I  might  ask  for  the  youth  and  outward  advan- 
tages that  please  the  eye,  I  could  also  love  with  a  yet  deeper 
love  that  which  would  speak  to  my  imagination,  —  Intellect, 
Genius,  Fame!  Ah,  these  have  an  immortal  youth  and  imper- 
ishable beauty  of  their  own !  " 

"  You  are  a  very  strange  girl." 

"  But  we  are  on  a  very  strange  subject  —  it  is  all  an 
enigma! "  said  Evelyn,  shaking  her  wise  little  head  with  a 
pretty  gravity,  half  mock,  half  real.  "  Ah,  if  Lord  Vargrave 
should  love  you  —  and  you  —  oh,  you  would  love  him,  and 
then  I  should  be  free,  and  so  happy !  " 

They  were  then  on  the  lawn  in  sight  of  the  cottage  win- 
dows, and  Lumley,  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  newspaper,  which 
had  just  arrived  and  been  seized  with  all  a  politician's  avidity, 
saw  them  in  the  distance.  He  threw  down  the  paper,  mused 
a  moment  or  two,  then  took  up  his  hat  and  joined  them;  but 
before  he  did  so,  he  surveyed  himself  in  the  glass.  "I  think 
I  look  young  enough  still,"  thought  he. 

"Two  cherries  on  one  stalk,"  said  Lumley,  gayly:  "by  the 
by,  it  is  not  a  complimentary  simile.  What  young  lady  would 
be  like  a  cherry?  —  such  an  uninteresting,  common,  charity- 
boy  sort  of  fruit.  For  my  part,  I  always  associate  cherries 
with  the  image  of  a  young  gentleman  in  corduroys  and  a 
skeleton  jacket,  with  one  pocket  full  of  marbles,  and  the 
other  full  of  worms  for  fishing,  with  three-halfpence  in  the 
left  paw,  and  two  cherries  on  one  stalk  (Helena  and  Hermia) 
in  the  right." 

"  How  droll  you  are !  "  said  Caroline,  laughing. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  and  don't  envy  your  discrimination, 
*  Melancholy  marks  me  for  its  own. '  You  ladies,  —  ah,  yours 
is  the  life  for  gay  spirits  and  light  hearts ;  to  us  are  left  busi- 
ness and  politics,  law,  physic,  and  murder,  by  way  of  pro- 


88  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

f essions ;  abuse,  nicknamed  fame ;  and  the  privilege  of  seeing 
how  universal  a  thing,  among  the  great  and  the  wealthy,  is 
that  pleasant  vice,  beggary,  —  which  privilege  is  proudly 
entitled  *  patronage  and  power. '  Are  we  the  things  to  be 
gay,  — *  droll,'  as  you  say?  Oh,  no,  all  our  spirits  are  forced, 
believe  me.  Miss  Cameron,  did  you  ever  know  that  wretched 
species  of  hysterical  affection  called  '  forced  spirits  '?  Never, 
I  am  sure;  your  ingenuous  smile,  your  laughing  eyes,  are  the 
index  to  a  happy  and  a  sanguine  heart." 

"And  what  of  me?"  asked  Caroline,  quickly,  and  with  a 
slight  blush, 

"You,  Miss  Merton?  Ah,  I  have  not  yet  read  your  char- 
acter, —  a  fair  page,  but  an  unknown  letter.  You,  however, 
have  seen  the  world,  and  know  that  we  must  occasionally 
wear  a  mask."  Lord  Vargrave  sighed  as  he  spoke,  and 
relapsed  into  sudden  silence;  then  looking  up,  his  eyes  en- 
countered Caroline's,  which  were  fixed  upon  him.  Their  gaze 
flattered  him;  Caroline  turned  away,  and  busied  herself  with 
a  rose-bush.  Lumley  gathered  one  of  the  flowers,  and  pre- 
sented it  to  her.     Evelyn  was  a  few  steps  in  advance. 

"There  is  no  thorn  in  this  rose," said  he;  "may  the  offering 
be  an  omen.  You  are  now  Evelyn's  friend,  oh,  be  mine ;  she 
is  to  be  your  guest.     Do  not  scorn  to  plead  for  me." 

"Can  you  want  a  pleader?"  said  Caroline,  with  a  slight 
tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  Charming  Miss  Merton,  love  is  diffident  and  fearful ;  but 
it  must  now  find  a  voice,  to  which  may  Evelyn  benignly  listen. 
What  I  leave  unsaid  —  would  that  my  new  friend's  eloquence 
could  supply." 

■  He  bowed  slightly,  and  joined  Evelyn.  Caroline  under- 
stood the  hint,  and  returned  alone  and  thoughtfully  to  the 
house. 

"Miss  Cameron  —  Evelyn  —  ah,  still  let  me  call  you  so, 
as  in  the  happy  and  more  familiar  days  of  your  child- 
hood, I  wish  you  could  read  my  heart  at  this  moment. 
You  are  about  to  leave  your  home;  new  scenes  will  sur- 
round, new  faces  smile  on  you;  dare  I  hope  that  I  may  still 
be  remembered?" 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  39 

He  attempted  to  take  her  hand  as  lie  spoke ;  Evelyn  with- 
drew it  gently. 

"Ah,  my  lord,"  said  she,  in  a  very  low  voice,  "if  remem- 
brance were  all  that  you  asked  of  me  —  " 

"  It  is  all,  —  favourable  remembrance,  remembrance  of  the 
love  of  the  past,  remembrance  of  the  bond  to  come." 

Evelyn  shivered.  "  It  is  better  to  speak  openly, "  said  she. 
"  Let  me  throw  myself  on  your  generosity.  I  am  not  insensi- 
ble to  your  brilliant  qualities,  to  the  honour  of  your  attach- 
ment ;  but  —  but  —  as  the  time  approaches  in  which  you  will 
call  for  my  decision,  let  me  now  say,  that  I  cannot  feel  for 
you  —  those  —  those  sentiments,  without  which  you  could  not 
desire  our  union,  —  without  which  it  were  but  a  wrong  to  both 
of  us  to  form  it.  Nay,  listen  to  me.  I  grieve  bitterly  at  the 
tenor  of  your  too  generous  uncle's  will;  can  I  not  atone  to 
you?  Willingly  would  I  sacrifice  the  fortune  that,  indeed, 
ought  to  be  yours;  accept  it,  and  remain  my  friend." 

"  Cruel  Evelyn !  and  can  you  suppose  that  it  is  your  fortune 
I  seek?  It  is  yourself.  Heaven  is  my  witness,  that,  had  you 
no  dowry  but  your  hand  and  heart,  it  were  treasure  enough 
to  me.  You  think  you  cannot  love  me.  Evelyn,  you  do  not 
yet  know  yourself.  Alas !  your  retirement  in  this  distant  vil- 
lage, my  own  unceasing  avocations,  which  chain  me,  like  a 
slave,  to  the  galley-oar  of  politics  and  power,  have  kept  us 
separate.  You  do  not  know  me.  I  am  willing  to  hazard  the 
experiment  of  that  knowledge.  To  devote  my  life  to  you,  to 
make  you  partaker  of  my  ambition,  my  career,  to  raise  you 
to  the  highest  eminence  in  the  matronage  of  England,  to 
transfer  pride  from  myself  to  you,  to  love  and  to  honour  and 
to  prize  you,  —  all  this  will  be  my  boast;  and  all  this  will  win 
love  for  me  at  last.  Fear  not,  Evelyn,  —  fear  not  for  your 
happiness ;  with  me  you  shall  know  no  sorrow.  Affection  at 
home,  splendour  abroad,  await  you.  I  have  passed  the  rough 
and  arduous  part  of  my  career ;  sunshine  lies  on  the  summit 
to  which  I  climb.  No  station  in  England  is  too  high  for  me 
to  aspire  to,  —  prospects,  how  bright  with  you,  how  dark 
without  you!  Ah,  Evelyn!  be  this  hand  mine  —  the  heart 
shall  follow!" 


40  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Vargrave's  words  were  artful  and  eloquent;  the  words  were 

calculated  to  win  their  way,  but  the  manner,  the  tone  of  voice, 
wanted  earnestness  and  truth.  This  was  his  defect ;  this  char- 
acterized all  his  attempts  to  seduce  or  to  lead  others,  in  pub- 
lic or  in  private  life.  He  had  no  heart,  no  deep  passion,  in 
what  he  undertook.  He  could  impress  you  with  the  convic- 
tion of  his  ability,  and  leave  the  conviction  imperfect,  because 
he  could  not  convince  you  that  he  was  sincere.  That  best  gift 
of  mental  power  —  earnestness  —  was  wanting  to  him;  and 
Lord  Vargrave's  deficiency  of  heart  was  the  true  cause  why 
he  was  not  a  great  man.  Still,  Evelyn  was  affected  by  his 
words ;  she  suffered  the  hand  he  now  once  more  took  to  remain 
passively  in  his,  and  said  timidly,  *'  Why,  with  sentiments  so 
generous  and  confiding,  why  do  you  love  me,  who  cannot 
return  your  affection  worthily?  No,  Lord  Vargrave;  there 
are  many  who  must  see  you  with  juster  eyes  than  mine,  — 
many  fairer,  and  even  wealthier.  Indeed,  indeed,  it  cannot 
be.  Do  not  be  offended,  but  think  that  the  fortune  left  to  me 
was  on  one  condition  I  cannot,  ought  not  to  fullil.  Failing 
that  condition,  in  equity  and  honour  it  reverts  to  you." 

"Talk  not  thus,  I  implore  you,  Evelyn;  do  not  imagine  me 
the  worldly  calculator  that  my  enemies  deem  me.  But,  to 
remove  at  once  from  your  mind  the  possibility  of  such  a  com- 
promise between  your  honour  and  repugnance  —  repugnance ! 
have  I  lived  to  say  that  word?  —  know  that  your  fortune  is 
not  at  your  own  disposal.  Save  the  small  forfeit  that  awaits 
your  non-compliance  with  my  uncle's  dying  prayer,  the  whole 
is  settled  peremptorily  on  yourself  and  your  children;  it  is 
entailed, — you  cannot  alienate  it.  Thus,  then,  your  gener- 
osity can  never  be  evinced  but  to  him  on  whom  you  bestow 
your  hand.  Ah,  let  me  recall  that  melancholy  scene.  Your 
benefactor  on  his  death-bed,  your  mother  kneeling  by  his  side, 
your  hand  clasped  in  mine,  and  those  lips,  with  their  latest 
breath,  uttering  at  once  a  blessing  and  a  command." 

"Ah,  cease,  cease,  my  lord!"  said  Evelyn,  sobbing. 

"No;  bid  me  not  cease  before  you  tell  me  you  will  be 
mine.  Beloved  Evelyn,  I  may  hope,  —  you  will  not  resolve 
against  me?  " 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  41 

"No,"  said  Evelyn,  raising  her  eyes  and  struggling  for 
composure ;  "  I  feel  too  well  what  should  be  my  duty ;  I  will 
endeavor  to  perform  it.  Ask  me  no  more  now.  1  will  strug- 
gle to  answer  you  as  you  wish  hereafter." 

Lord  Vargrave,  resolved  to  push  to  the  utmost  the  advan- 
tage he  had  gained,  was  about  to  reply  when  he  heard  a  step 
behind  him;  and  turning  round,  quickly  and  discomposed, 
beheld  a  venerable  form  approaching  them.  The  occasion 
was  lost:  Evelyn  also  turned;  and  seeing  who  was  the 
intruder,  sprang  towards  him  almost  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

The  new  comer  was  a  man  who  had  passed  his  seventieth 
year;  but  his  old  age  was  green,  his  step  light,  and  on  his 
healthful  and  benignant  countenance  time  had  left  but  few 
furrows.  He  was  clothed  in  black;  and  his  locks,  which 
were  white  as  snow,  escaped  from  the  broad  hat,  and  almost 
touched  his  shoulders. 

The  old  man  smiled  upon  Evelyn,  and  kissed  her  forehead 
fondly.  He  then  turned  to  Lord  Vargrave,  who,  recovering 
his  customary  self-possession,  advanced  to  meet  him  with 
extended  hand. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Aubrey,  this  is  a  welcome  surprise.  I  heard 
you  were  not  at  the  vicarage,  or  I  would  have  called  on  you." 

"Your  lordship  honours  me,"  replied  the  curate.  "For  the 
first  time  for  thirty  years  I  have  been  thus  long  absent  from 
my  cure;  but  I  am  now  returned,  I  hope,  to  end  my  days 
among  my  flock. " 

"  And  what, "  asked  Vargrave,  —  "  what  —  if  the  question  be 
not  presumptuous  —  occasioned  your  unwilling  absence?" 

"My  lord,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  a  gentle  smile,  "a 
new  vicar  has  been  appointed.  I  went  to  him,  to  proffer  an 
humble  prayer  that  I  might  remain  amongst  those  whom  I 
regarded  as  my  children.  I  have  buried  one  generation, 
I  have  married  another,  I  have  baptized  a  third." 

"You  should  have  had  the  vicarage  itself;  you  should  be 
better  provided  for,  my  dear  Mr.  Aubrey ;  I  will  speak  to  the 
Lord  Chancellor." 

Five  times  before  had  Lord  Vargrave  uttered  the  same 
promise,  and  the  curate  smiled  to  hear  the  familiar  words. 


42  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"The  vicarage,  my  lord,  is  a  family  living,  and  is  now 
vested  in  a  young  man  who  requires  wealth  more  than  I  do. 
He  has  been  kind  to  me,  and  re-established  me  among  my 
flock;  I  would  not  leave  them  for  a  bishopric.  My  child," 
continued  the  curate,  addressing  Evelyn  with  great  affection, 
"you  are  surely  unwell, — you  are  paler  than  when  I  left 
you." 

Evelyn  clung  fondly  to  his  arm,  and  smiled  —  her  old  gay 
smile  —  as  she  replied  to  him.  They  took  the  way  towards 
the  house. 

The  curate  remained  with  them  for  an  hour.  There  was  a 
mingled  sweetness  and  dignity  in  his  manner  which  had  in  it 
something  of  the  primitive  character  we  poetically  ascribe  to 
the  pastors  of  the  Church.  Lady  Vargrave  seemed  to  vie  with 
Evelyn  which  should  love  him  the  most.  When  he  retired  to 
his  home,  which  was  not  many  yards  distant  from  the  cottage, 
Evelyn,  pleading  a  headache,  sought  her  chamber,  and  Lum- 
ley,  to  soothe  his  mortification,  turned  to  Caroline,  who  had 
seated  herself  by  his  side.  Her  conversation  amused  him, 
and  her  evident  admiration  flattered.  While  Lady  Vargrave 
absented  herself,  in  motherly  anxiety,  to  attend  on  Evelyn, 
while  Mrs.  Leslie  was  occupied  at  her  frame,  and  Mrs.  Merton 
looked  on,  and  talked  indolently  to  the  old  lady  of  rheumatism 
and  sermons,  of  children's  complaints  and  servants'  misde- 
meanours, —  the  conversation  between  Lord  Vargrave  and 
Caroline,  at  first  gay  and  animated,  grew  gradually  more  sen- 
timental and  subdued;  their  voices  took  a  lower  tone,  and 
Caroline  sometimes  turned  away  her  head  and  blushed. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  4* 


CHAPTER  XI. 

There  stands  the  Messenger  of  Truth  —  there  stands 
The  Legate  of  the  skies.  —  Cowpeb. 

From  that  night  Lumley  found  no  opportunity  for  private 
conversation  with  Evelyn;  she  evidently  shunned  to  meet 
with  him  alone.  She  was  ever  with  her  mother  or  Mrs. 
Leslie  or  the  good  curate,  who  spent  much  of  his  time  at  the 
cottage;  for  the  old  man  had  neither  wife  nor  children,  he 
was  alone  at  home,  he  had  learned  to  make  his  home  with  the 
widow  and  her  daughter.  With  them  he  was  an  object  of  the 
tenderest  affection,  of  the  deepest  veneration.  Their  love 
delighted  him,  and  he  returned  it  with  the  fondness  of  a  par- 
ent and  the  benevolence  of  a  pastor.  He  was  a  rare  character, 
that  village  priest! 

Born  of  humble  parentage,  Edward  Aubrey  had  early  dis- 
played abilities  which  attracted  the  notice  of  a  wealthy  pro- 
prietor, who  was  not  displeased  to  affect  the  patron.  Young 
Aubrey  was  sent  to  school,  and  thence  to  college  as  a  sizar : 
he  obtained  several  prizes,  and  took  a  high  degree.  Aubrey 
was  not  without  the  ambition  and  the  passions  of  youth :  he 
went  into  the  world,  ardent,  inexperienced,  and  without  a 
guide.  He  drew  back  before  errors  grew  into  crimes,  or  folly 
became  a  habit.  It  was  nature  and  affection  that  reclaimed 
and  saved  him  from  either  alternative,  —  fame  or  ruin.  His 
widowed  mother  was  suddenly  stricken  with  disease.  Blind 
and  bedridden,  her  whole  dependence  was  on  her  only  son. 
This  affliction  called  forth  a  new  character  in  Edward  Aubrey. 
This  mother  had  stripped  herself  of  so  many  comforts  to  pro- 
vide for  him,  — he  devoted  his  youth  to  her  in  return.  She 
was  now  old  and  imbecile.  With  the  mingled  selfishness  and 
sentiment  of  age,  she  would  not  come  to  London,  —  she  would 
not  move  from  the  village  where  her  husband  lay  buried, 
where  her  youth  had  been  spent.     In  this  village  the  able 


44  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  ambitious  young  man  buried  bis  bopes  and  bis  talents; 
by  degrees  tbe  quiet  and  tranquillity  of  tbe  country  life  be- 
came dear  to  bim.  As  steps  in  a  ladder,  so  piety  leads  to 
piety,  and  religion  grew  to  bim  a  babit.  He  took  orders  and 
entered  tbe  Cburcb.  A  disappointment  in  love  ensued;  it  left 
on  bis  mind  and  beart  a  sober  and  resigned  melancboly,  wbicb 
at  lengtb  mellowed  into  content.  His  profession  and  its  sweet 
duties  became  more  and  more  dear  to  bim;  in  tbe  bopes  of 
tbe  next  world  be  forgot  tbe  ambition  of  tbe  present.  He  did 
not  seek  to  sbine,  — 

"More  skilled  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise." 

His  own  birtb  made  tbe  poor  bis  brotbers,  and  tbeir  dispo- 
sitions and  wants  familiar  to  bim.  His  own  early  errors 
made  bim  tolerant  to  tbe  faults  of  otbers,  —  few  men  are 
cbaritable  wbo  remember  not  tbat  tbey  bave  sinned.  In  our 
faults  lie  tbe  germs  of  virtues.  Tbus  gradually  and  serenely 
bad  worn  away  bis  life  —  obscure  but  useful,  calm  but  active, 
—  a  man  wbom  "  tbe  great  prizes  "  of  tbe  Cburcb  migbt  bave 
rendered  an  ambitious  scbemer,  to  wbom  a  modest  confidence 
gave  tbe  true  pastoral  power,  —  to  conquer  tbe  world  witbin 
bimself,  and  to  sympatbize  witb  tbe  wants  of  otbers.  Yes, 
be  was  a  rare  cbaracter,  tbat  village  priest! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Tout  notre  raisonnement  se  redait  k  ceder  au  sentiment.^  —  Pascal. 

LoBD  Vabgbave,  wbo  bad  no  desire  to  remain  alone  witb 
tbe  widow  wben  tbe  guests  were  gone,  arranged  bis  departure 
for  tbe  same  day  as  tbat  fixed  for  Mrs.  Merton's ;  and  as  tbeir 
road  lay  togetber  for  several  miles,  it  was  settled  tbat  tbey 

sbould  all  dine  at ^  wbence  Lord  Vargrave  would  proceed 

to  London.     Failing  to  procure  a  second  cbance-interview  witb 

^  "  All  our  reasoning  reduces  itself  to  yielding  to  sentiment." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  46 

Evelyn,  and  afraid  to  demand  a  formal  one  —  for  lie  felt  the 
insecurity  of  the  ground  he  stood  on  —  Lord  Vargrave,  irri- 
tated and  somewhat  mortified,  sought,  as  was  his  habit,  what- 
ever amusement  was  in  his  reach.  In  the  conversation  of 
Caroline  Merton  —  shrewd,  worldly,  and  ambitious  —  he 
found'  the  sort  of  plaything  that  he  desired.  They  were 
thrown  much  together;  but  to  Vargrave,  at  least,  there  ap- 
peared no  danger  in  the  intercourse;  and  perhaps  his  chief 
object  was  to  pique  Evelyn,  as  well  as  to  gratify  his  own 
spleen. 

It  was  the  evening  before  Evelyn's  departure;  the  little 
party  had  been  for  the  last  hour  dispersed;  Mrs.  Merton  was 
in  her  own  room,  making  to  herself  gratuitous  and  unneces- 
sary occupation  in  seeing  her  woman  pack  up.  It  was  just 
the  kind  of  task  that  delighted  her.  To  sit  in  a  large  chair 
and  see  somebody  else  at  work  —  to  say  languidly,  "Don't 
crumple  that  scarf,  Jane ;  and  where  shall  we  put  Miss  Caro- 
line's blue  bonnet?  "  —  gave  her  a  very  comfortable  notion  of 
her  own  importance  and  habits  of  business,  —  a  sort  of  title  to 
be  the  superintendent  of  a  family  and  the  wife  of  a  rector. 
Caroline  had  disappeared,  so  had  Lord  Vargrave ;  but  the  first 
was  supposed  to  be  with  Evelyn,  the  second,  employed  in 
writing  letters,  —  at  least,  it  was  so  when  they  had  been  last 
observed.  Mrs.  Leslie  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
absorbed  in  anxious  and  benevolent  thoughts  on  the  critical 
situation  of  her  young  favourite,  about  to  enter  an  age  and  a 
world  the  perils  of  which  Mrs.  Leslie  had  not  forgotten. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Evelyn,  forgetful  of  Lord  Vargrave 
and  his  suit,  of  every  one,  of  everything  but  the  grief  of  the 
approaching  departure,  found  herself  alone  in  a  little  arbour 
that  had  been  built  upon  the  cliff  to  command  the  view  of  the 
sea  below.  That  day  she  had  been  restless,  perturbed;  she 
had  visited  every  spot  consecrated  by  youthful  recollections ; 
she  had  clung  with  fond  regret  to  every  place  in  which  she 
had  held  sweet  converse  with  her  mother.  Of  a  disposition 
singularly  warm  and  affectionate,  she  had  often,  in  her  secret 
heart,  pined  for  a  more  yearning  and  enthusiastic  love  than  it 
seemed  in  the  subdued  nature  of  Lady  Vargrave  to  bestow. 


46  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

In  the  affection  of  the  latter,  gentle  and  never  fluctuating  as 
it  was,  there  seemed  to  her  a  something  wanting,  which  she 
could  not  define.  She  had  watched  that  beloved  face  all  the 
morning.  She  had  hoped  to  see  the  tender  eyes  fixed  upon 
her,  and  hear  the  meek  voice  exclaim,  "  I  cannot  part  with  my 
child !  "  All  the  gay  pictures  which  the  light-hearted  Caro- 
line drew  of  the  scenes  she  was  to  enter  had  vanished  away 
—  now  that  the  hour  approached  when  her  mother  was  to  be 
left  alone.  Why  was  she  to  go?  It  seemed  to  her  an  unne- 
cessary cruelty. 

As  she  thus  sat,  she  did  not  observe  that  Mr.  Aubrey,  who 
had  seen  her  at  a  distance,  was  now  bending  his  way  to  her; 
and  not  till  he  had  entered  the  arbour,  and  taken  her  hand, 
did  she  waken  from  those  reveries  in  which  youth,  the 
Dreamer  and  the  Desirer,  so  morbidly  indulges. 

"  Tears,  my  child?  "  said  the  curate.  "  !N"ay,  be  not  ashamed 
of  them ;  they  become  you  in  this  hour.  How  we  shall  miss 
you!  and  you,  too,  will  not  forget  us?" 

"Forget  you!  Ah,  no,  indeed!  But  why  should  I  leave 
you?  Why  will  you  not  speak  to  my  mother,  implore  her  to 
let  me  remain?  We  were  so  happy  till  these  strangers  came. 
We  did  not  think  there  was  any  other  world,  —  here  there  is 
world  enough  for  me !  " 

"My  poor  Evelyn,"  said  Mr.  Aubrey,  gently,  "I  have 
spoken  to  your  mother  and  to  Mrs.  Leslie;  they  have  con- 
fided to  me  all  the  reasons  for  your  departure,  and  I  cannot 
but  subscribe  to  their  justice.  You  do  not  want  many  months 
of  the  age  when  you  will  be  called  upon  to  decide  whether 
Lord  Vargrave  shall  be  your  husband.  Your  mother  shrinks 
from  the  responsibility  of  influencing  your  decision ;  and  here, 
my  child,  inexperienced,  and  having  seen  so  little  of  others, 
how  can  you  know  your  own  heart?  " 

"But,  oh,  Mr.  Aubrey,"  said  Evelyn,  with  an  earnestness 
that  overcame  embarrassment,  "have  I  a  choice  left  tome? 
Can  I  be  ungrateful,  disobedient  to  him  who  was  a  father  to 
me?  Ought  I  not  to  sacrifice  my  own  happiness?  And  how 
willingly  would  I  do  so,  if  my  mother  would  smile  on  me 
approvingly  I  " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  47 

"  My  child, "  said  the  curate,  gravely,  "  an  old  man  is  a  bad 
judge  of  the  affairs  of  youth ;  yet  in  this  matter,  I  think  your 
duty  plain.  Do  not  resolutely  set  yourself  against  Lord  Var- 
grave's  claim;  do  not  persuade  yourself  that  you  must  be 
unhappy  in  a  union  with  him.  Compose  your  mind,  think 
seriously  upon  the  choice  before  you,  refuse  all  decision  at 
the  present  moment;  wait  until  the  appointed  time  arrives, 
or,  at  least,  more  nearly  approaches.  Meanwhile,  I  under- 
stand that  Lord  Vargrave  is  to  be  a  frequent  visitor  at  Mrs. 
Merton's;  there  you  will  see  him  with  others,  his  character 
will  show  itself.  Study  his  principles,  his  disposition ;  exam- 
ine whether  he  is  one  whom  you  can  esteem  and  render  happy : 
there  may  be  a  love  without  enthusiasm,  and  yet  sufficient  for 
domestic  felicity,  and  for  the  employment  of  the  affections. 
You  will  insensibly,  too,  learn  from  other  parts  of  his  charac- 
ter which  he  does  not  exhibit  to  us.  If  the  result  of  time  and 
examination  be  that  you  can  cheerfully  obey  the  late  lord's 
dying  wish,  unquestionably  it  will  be  the  happier  decision. 
If  not,  if  you  still  shrink  from  vows  at  which  your  heart  now 
rebels,  as  unquestionably  you  may,  with  an  acquitted  con- 
science, become  free.  The  best  of  us  are  imperfect  judges  of 
the  happiness  of  others.  In  the  woe  or  weal  of  a  whole  life, 
we  must  decide  for  ourselves.  Your  benefactor  could  not 
mean  you  to  be  wretched;  and  if  he  now,  with  eyes  purified 
from  all  worldly  mists,  look  down  upon  you,  his  spirit  will 
approve  your  choice ;  for  when  we  quit  the  world,  all  worldly 
ambition  dies  with  us.  What  now  to  the  immortal  soul  can 
be  the  title  and  the  rank  which  on  earth,  with  the  desires  of 
earth,  your  benefactor  hoped  to  secure  to  his  adopted  child? 
This  is  my  advice.  Look  on  the  bright  side  of  things,  and 
wait  calmly  for  the  hour  when  Lord  Vargrave  can  demand 
your  decision." 

The  words  of  the  priest,  which  well  defined  her  duty,  inex- 
pressibly soothed  and  comforted  Evelyn;  and  the  advice  upon 
other  and  higher  matters,  which  the  good  man  pressed  upon  a 
mind  so  softened  at  that  hour  to  receive  religious  impressions, 
was  received  with  gratitude  and  respect.  Subsequently  their 
conversation  fell  upon  Lady  Vargrave,  —  a  theme  dear  to  both 


48  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

of  them.  The  old  man  was  greatly  touched  by  the  poor  girl's 
unselfish  anxiety  for  her  mother's  comfort,  by  her  fears  that 
she  might  be  missed,  in  those  little  attentions  which  filial  love 
alone  can  render ;  he  was  almost  yet  more  touched  when,  with 
a  less  disinterested  feeling,  Evelyn  added  mournfully,  — 

"Yet  why,  after  all,  should  I  fancy  she  will  so  miss  me? 
Ah,  though  I  will  not  dare  complain  of  it,  I  feel  still  that  she 
does  not  love  me  as  I  love  her." 

"Evelyn,"  said  the  curate,  with  mild  reproach,  "have  I  not 
said  that  your  mother  has  known  sorrow?  And  though  sor- 
row does  not  annihilate  affection,  it  subdues  its  expression, 
and  moderates  its  outward  signs." 

Evelyn  sighed,  and  said  no  more. 

As  the  good  old  man  and  his  young  friend  returned  to  the 
cottage.  Lord  Vargrave  and  Caroline  approached  them,  emerg- 
ing from  an  opposite  part  of  the  grounds.  The  former  has- 
tened to  Evelyn  with  his  usual  gayety  and  frank  address ;  and 
there  was  so  much  charm  in  the  manner  of  a  man,  whom 
apparently  the  world  and  its  cares  had  never  rendered  artifi- 
cial or  reserved,  that  the  curate  himself  was  impressed  by  it. 
He  thought  that  Evelyn  might  be  happy  with  one  amiable 
enough  for  a  companion  and  wise  enough  for  a  guide.  But 
old  as  he  was,  he  had  loved,  and  he  knew  that  there  are 
instincts  in  the  heart  which  defy  all  our  calculations. 

While  Lumley  was  conversing,  the  little  gate  that  made  the 
communication  between  the  gardens  and  the  neighbouring 
churchyard,  through  which  was  the  nearest  access  to  the  vil- 
lage, creaked  on  its  hinges,  and  the  quiet  and  solitary  figure 
of  Lady  Vargrave  threw  its  shadow  over  the  grass. 


ALICE;    OE,  THE  MYSTEEIES.  49 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

And  I  can  listen  to  thee  yet, 

Can  lie  upon  the  plain ; 
And  listen  till  I  do  beget 

That  golden  time  again.  —  Wordsworth. 

It  was  past  midnight  —  hostess  and  guests  had  retired  to 
repose  —  when  Lady  Vargrave's  door  opened  gently.  The 
lady  herself  was  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  bed;  the  moon- 
light came  through  the  half -drawn  curtains  of  the  casement, 
and  by  its  ray  her  pale,  calm  features  looked  paler,  and  yet 
more  hushed. 

Evelyn,  for  she  was  the  intruder,  paused  at  the  threshold 
till  her  mother  rose  from  her  devotions,  and  then  she  threw 
herself  on  Lady  Vargrave's  breast,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  Hers  were  the  wild,  generous,  irresistible  emo- 
tions of  youth.  Lady  Vargrave,  perhaps,  had  known  them 
once;  at  least,  she  could  sympathize  with  them  now. 

She  strained  her  child  to  her  bosom;  she  stroked  back  her 
hair,  and  kissed  her  fondly,  and  spoke  to  her  soothingly. 

"  Mother, "  sobbed  Evelyn,  *'  I  could  not  sleep,  I  could  not 
rest.  Bless  me  again,  kiss  me  again;  tell  me  that  you  love 
me  —  you  cannot  love  me  as  I  do  you ;  but  tell  me  that  I  am 
dear  to  you ;  tell  me  you  will  regret  me,  but  not  too  much ; 
tell  me  —  "     Here  Evelyn  paused,  and  could  say  no  more. 

*'  My  best,  my  kindest  Evelyn, "  said  Lady  Vargrave,  "  there 
is  nothing  on  earth  I  love  like  you.  Do  not  fancy  I  am 
ungrateful." 

"Why  do  you  say  ungrateful?  —  your  own  child, — your 
only  child ! "  And  Evelyn  covered  her  mother's  face  and 
hands  with  passionate  tears  and  kisses. 

At  that  moment,  certain  it  is  that  Lady  Vargrave's  heart 
reproached  her  with  not  having,  indeed,  loved  this  sweet  girl 
as  she  deserved.    True,  no  mother  was  more  mild,  more  atten- 

4 


50  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

tive,  more  fostering,  more  anxious  for  a  daughter's  welfare; 
but  Evelyn  was  right.  The  gushing  fondness,  the  mysterious 
entering  into  every  subtle  thought  and  feeling,  which  should 
have  characterized  the  love  of  such  a  mother  to  such  a  child, 
had  been  to  outward  appearance  wanting.  Even  in  this  pres- 
ent parting  there  had  been  a  prudence,  an  exerpise  of  reason- 
ing, that  savoured  more  of  duty  than  love.  Lady  Vargrave 
felt  all  this  with  remorse;  she  gave  way  to  emotions  new  to 
her,  —  at  least  to  exhibit ;  she  wept  with  Evelyn,  and  re- 
turned her  caresses  with  almost  equal  fervour.  Perhaps,  too, 
she  thought  at  that  moment  of  what  love  that  warm  nature 
was  susceptible;  and  she  trembled  for  her  future  fate.  It 
was  as  a  full  reconciliation  —  that  mournful  hour  —  between 
feelings  on  either  side,  which  something  mysterious  seemed 
to  have  checked  before ;  and  that  last  night  the  mother  and 
the  child  did  not  separate,  —  the  same  couch  contained  them : 
and  when,  worn  out  with  some  emotions  which  she  could  not 
reveal.  Lady  Vargrave  fell  into  the  sleep  of  exhaustion,  Eve- 
lyn's arm  was  round  her,  and  Evelyn's  eyes  watched  her  with 
pious  and  anxious  love  as  the  gray  morning  dawned. 

She  left  her  mother  still  sleeping,  when  the  sun  rose,  and 
went  silently  down  into  the  dear  room  below,  and  again  busied 
herself  in  a  thousand  little  provident  cares,  which  she  won- 
dered she  had  forgot  before. 

The  carriages  were  at  the  door  before  the  party  had  assem- 
bled at  the  melancholy  breakfast-table.  Lord  Vargrave  was 
the  last  to  appear. 

"I  have  been  like  all  cowards,"  said  he,  seating  himself,  — 
"anxious  to  defer  an  evil  as  long  as  possible;  a  bad  policy, 
for  it  increases  the  worst  of  all  pains,  — that  of  suspense." 

Mrs.  Merton  had  undertaken  the  duties  that  appertain  to 
the  "hissing  urn."  "You  prefer  coffee.  Lord  Vargrave? 
Caroline,    my  dear  —  " 

Caroline  passed  the  cup  to  Lord  Vargrave,  who  looked  at 
her  hand  as  he  took  it  —  there  was  a  ring  on  one  of  those 
slender  fingers  never  observed  there  before.  Their  eyes  met, 
and  Caroline  coloured.  Lord  Vargrave  turned  to  Evelyn, 
who,  pale  as  death,  but  tearless  and  speechless,  sat  beside  her 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  61 

mother;  he  attempted  in  vain  to  draw  her  into  conversation. 
Evelyn,  who  desired  to  restrain  her  feelings,  would  not  trust 
herself  to  speak. 

Mrs.  Merton,  ever  undisturbed  and  placid,  continued  to  talk 
on :  to  offer  congratulations  on  the  weather,  —  it  was  such  a 
lovely  day;  and  they  should  be  off  so  early;  it  would  be  so 
well  arranged,  —  they  should  be  in  such  good  time  to  dine  at 

,  and  then  go  three  stages  after  dinner;  the  moon  would 

be  up. 

"But,"  said  Lord  Vargrave,  "as  I  am  to  go  with  you  as  far 

as ,  where  our  roads  separate,  I  hope  I  am  not  condemned 

to  go  alone,  with  my  red  box,  two  old  newspapers,  and  the 
blue  devils.     Have  pity  on  me." 

"Perhaps  you  will  take  Grandmamma,  then?"  whispered 
Caroline,  archly. 

Lumley  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  replied  in  the  same 
tone,  — 

"  Yes,  —  provided  you  keep  to  the  proverb,  '  Les  extremes 
se  touchent, '  and  the  lovely  grandchild  accompany  the  vener- 
able grandmamma." 

"What  would  Evelyn  say?"  retorted  Caroline. 

Lumley  sighed,  and  made  no  answer. 

Mrs.  Merton,  who  had  hung  fire  while  her  daughter  was 
carrying  on  this  "  aside, "  now  put  in,  — 

"  Suppose  I  and  Caroline  take  your  britzka,  and  you  go  in 
our  old  coach  with  Evelyn  and  Mrs.  Leslie?  " 

Lumley  looked  delightedly  at  the  speaker,  and  then  glanced 
at  Evelyn;  but  Mrs.  Leslie  said  very  gravely,  "No,  we  shall 
feel  too  much  in  leaving  this  dear  place  to  be  gay  companions 
for  Lord  Vargrave.  We  shall  all  meet  at  dinner;  or,"  she 
added,  after  a  pause,  "if  this  be  uncourteous  to  Lord  Var- 
grave, suppose  Evelyn  and  myself  take  his  carriage,  and  he 
accompanies  you?  " 

"Agreed,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  quietly;  "and  now  I  will  just 
go  and  see  about  the  strawberry-plants  and  slips  —  it  was  so 
kind  in  you,  dear  Lady  Vargrave,  to  think  of  them." 

An  hour  had  elapsed,  and  Evelyn  was  gone !  She  had  left 
her  maiden  home,  she  had  wept  her  last  farewell  on  her 


62  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

mother's  bosom,  the  sound  of  the  carriage-wheels  had  died 
away;  but  still  Lady  Vargrave  lingered  on  the  threshold,  still 
she  gazed  on  the  spot  where  the  last  glimpse  of  Evelyn  had 
been  caught.  A  sense  of  dreariness  and  solitude  passed  into 
her  soul :  the  very  sunlight,  the  spring,  the  songs  of  the  birds, 
made  loneliness  more  desolate. 

Mechanically,  at  last,  she  moved  away,  and  with  slow  steps 
and  downcast  eyes  passed  through  the  favourite  walk  that  led 
into  the  quiet  burial-ground.  The  gate  closed  upon  her,  and 
now  the  lawn,  the  gardens,  the  haunts  of  Evelyn,  were  soli- 
tary as  the  desert  itself;  but  the  daisy  opened  to  the  sun,  and 
the  bee  murmured  along  the  blossoms,  not  the  less  blithely  for 
the  absence  of  all  human  life.  In  the  bosom  of  Nature  there 
beats  no  heart  for  man ! 


BOOK    n. 


—  fros  ^\0f,  wtpiirXofityuv  iviavr&v 
TS  ol  iveKK^aatro  fleol,  olKOvSe  veecrBai, 
Els  'IdMCTjv,  ovS'  ivOn  tr^pvyfifvos  ^tv  &iO\wv. 

Homeb:  Od.  lib.  i,  16. 

"  The  hour  arrived  —  years  having  rolled  away  — 
When  his  return  the  Gods  no  more  delay. 
Lo !  Ithaca  the  Fates  award ;  and  there 
New  trials  meet  the  Wanderer." 


CHAPTER  I. 

There  is  continual  spring  and  harvest  here  — 

Continual,  both  meeting  at  one  time  ; 
For  both  the  boughs  do  laughing  blossoms  bear, 

And  with  fresh  colours  deck  the  wanton  prime ; 
And  eke  at  once  the  heavy  trees  they  climb. 

Which  seem  to  labour  under  their  fruit's  load. 

Spenseb:  The  Garden  of  Adonis. 

Vis  boni 
In  ipsa  inesset  forma.^  —  Terence. 

Beauty,  thou  art  twice  blessed ;  thou  blessest  the  gazer  and 
the  possessor;  often  at  once  the  effect  and  the  cause  of  good- 
ness! A  sweet  disposition,  a  lovely  soul,  an  affectionate 
nature,  will  speak  in  the  eyes,  the  lips,  the  brow,  and  become 
the  cause  of  beauty.  On  the  other  hand,  they  who  have  a  gift 
that  commands  love,  a  key  that  opens  all  hearts,  are  ordinarily 
inclined  to  look  with  happy  eyes  upon  the  world,  —  to  be 
cheerful  and  serene,  to  hope  and  to  confide.  There  is  more 
wisdom  than  the  vulgar  dream  of  in  our  admiration  of  a  fair 
face. 

1  "  Even  in  beauty  there  exists  the  power  of  virtue." 


54  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Evelyn  Cameron  was  beautiful,  —  a  beauty  that  came  from 
the  heart,  and  went  to  the  heart ;  a  beauty,  the  very  spirit  of 
which  was  love !  Love  smiled  on  her  dimpled  lips,  it  reposed 
on  her  open  brow,  it  played  in  the  profuse  and  careless  ring- 
lets of  darkest  yet  sunniest  auburn,  which  a  breeze  could  lift 
from  her  delicate  and  virgin  cheek ;  Love,  in  all  its  tenderness, 
in  all  its  kindness,  its  unsuspecting  truth,  —  Love  coloured 
every  thought,  murmured  in  her  low  melodious  voice,  in  all 
its  symmetry  and  glorious  womanhood.  Love  swelled  the 
swan-like  neck,  and  moulded  the  rounded  limb. 

She  was  just  the  kind  of  person  that  takes  the  judgment  by 
storm :  whether  gay  or  grave,  there  was  so  charming  and  irre- 
sistible a  grace  about  her.  She  seemed  born,  not  only  to  cap- 
tivate the  giddy,  but  to  turn  the  heads  of  the  sage.  Roxalana 
was  nothing  to  her.  How,  in  the  obscure  hamlet  of  Brook- 
Green,  she  had  learned  all  the  arts  of  pleasing  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  say.  In  her  arch  smile,  the  pretty  toss  of  her  head, 
the  half  shyness,  half  freedom,  of  her  winning  ways,  it  was 
as  if  Nature  had  made  her  to  delight  one  heart,  and  torment 
all  others. 

Without  being  learned,  the  mind  of  Evelyn  was  cultivated 
and  well  informed.  Her  heart,  perhaps,  helped  to  instruct 
her  understanding;  for  by  a  kind  of  intuition  she  could  appre- 
ciate all  that  was  beautiful  and  elevated.  Her  unvitiated  and 
guileless  taste  had  a  logic  of  its  own :  no  schoolman  had  ever 
a  quicker  penetration  into  truth,  no  critic  ever  more  readily 
detected  the  meretricious  and  the  false.  The  book  that  Eve- 
lyn could  admire  was  sure  to  be  stamped  with  the  impress  of 
the  noble,  the  lovely,  or  the  true ! 

But  Evelyn  had  faults,  — the  faults  of  her  age;  or,  rather, 
she  had  tendencies  that  might  conduce  to  error.  She  was  of 
so  generous  a  nature  that  the  very  thought  of  sacrificing  her- 
self for  another  had  a  charm.  She  ever  acted  from  impulse, 
—  impulses  pure  and  good,  but  often  rash  and  imprudent. 
She  was  yielding  to  weakness,  persuaded  into  anything,  so 
sensitive,  that  even  a  cold  look  from  one  moderately  liked  cut 
her  to  the  heart;  and  by  the  sympathy  that  accompanies  sen- 
sitiveness, no  pain  to  her  was  so  great  as  the  thought  of  giv- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  65 

ing  pain  to  another.  Hence  it  was  that  Vargrave  might  form 
reasonable  hopes  of  his  ultimate  success.  It  was  a  dangerous 
constitution  for  happiness !  How  many  chances  must  combine 
to  preserve  to  the  mid-day  of  characters  like  this  the  sunshine 
of  their  dawn!  The  butterfly  that  seems  the  child  of  the 
summer  and  the  flowers  —  what  wind  will  not  chill  its  mirth, 
what  touch  will  not  brush  away  its  hues? 


CHAPTER  II. 

These,  on  a  general  survey,  are  the  modes 

Of  pulpit  oratory  which  agree 

With  no  unlettered  audience.  —  Polwhele. 

Mrs.  Leslie  had  returned  from  her  visit  to  the  rectory  to 
her  own  home,  and  Evelyn  had  now  been  some  weeks  at  Mrs. 
Merton's.  As  was  natural,  she  had  grown  in  some  measure 
reconciled  and  resigned  to  her  change  of  abode.  In  fact,  no 
sooner  did  she  pass  Mrs.  Merton's  threshold,  than,  for  the 
first  time,  she  was  made  aware  of  her  consequence  in  life. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Merton  was  a  man  of  the  nicest  perception 
in  all  things  appertaining  to  worldly  consideration.  The  sec- 
ond son  of  a  very  wealthy  baronet  (who  was  the  first  com- 
moner of  his  county)  and  of  the  daughter  of  a  rich  and  highly- 
descended  peer,  Mr.  Merton  had  been  brought  near  enough 
to  rank  and  power  to  appreciate  all  their  advantages.  In 
early  life  he  had  been  something  of  a  "tuft-hunter;  "  but  as  his 
understanding  was  good  and  his  passions  not  very  strong,  he 
had  soon  perceived  that  that  vessel  of  clay,  a  young  man  with 
a  moderate  fortune,  cannot  long  sail  down  the  same  stream 
with  the  metal  vessels  of  rich  earls  and  extravagant  dandies. 
Besides,  he  was  destined  for  the  Church  —  because  there  was 
one  of  the  finest  livings  in  England  in  the  family.  He  there- 
fore took  orders  at  six-and-twenty ;  married  Mrs.  Leslie's 
daughter,  who  had  thirty  thousand  pounds :  and  settled  at  the 


56  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

rectory  of  Merton,  within  a  mile  of  the  family  seat.  He  be- 
came a  very  respectable  and  extremely  popular  man.  He  was 
singularly  hospitable,  and  built  a  new  wing  —  containing  a 
large  dining-room  and  six  capital  bed-rooms  —  to  the  rectory, 
which  had  now  much  more  the  appearance  of  a  country  villa 
than  a  country  parsonage.  His  brother,  succeeding  to  the 
estates,  and  residing  chiefly  in  the  neighbourhood,  became, 
like  his  father  before  him,  member  for  the  county,  and  was 
one  of  the  country  gentlemen  most  looked  up  to  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  A  sensible  and  frequent,  though  uncommonly 
prosy  speaker,  singularly  independent  (for  he  had  a  clear 
fourteen  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  did  not  desire  office), 
and  valuing  himself  on  not  being  a  party  man,  so  that  his 
vote  on  critical  questions  was  often  a  matter  of  great  doubt, 
and,  therefore,  of  great  moment.  Sir  John  Merton  gave  con- 
siderable importance  to  the  Eev.  Charles  Merton.  Th3  latter 
kept  up  all  the  more  select  of  his  old  London  acquaintances ; 
and  few  country  houses,  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  were 
tilled  more  aristocratically  than  the  pleasant  rectory-house. 
Mr.  Merton,  indeed,  contrived  to  make  the  Hall  a  reservoir 
for  the  parsonage,  and  periodically  drafted  off  the  elite  of  the 
visitors  at  the  former  to  spend  a  few  days  at  the  latter.  This 
was  the  more  easily  done,  as  his  brother  was  a  widower,  and 
his  conversation  was  all  of  one  sort,  —  the  state  of  the  nation 
and  the  agricultural  interest.  Mr.  Merton  was  upon  very 
friendly  terms  with  his  brother,  looked  after  the  property  in 
the  absence  of  Sir  John,  kept  up  the  family  interest,  was  an 
excellent  electioneerer,  a  good  speaker  at  a  pinch,  an  able 
magistrate,  —  a  man,  in  short,  most  useful  in  the  county ;  on 
the  whole,  he  was  more  popular  than  his  brother,  and  almost 
as  much  looked  up  to  —  perhaps,  because  he  was  much  less 
ostentatious.  He  had  very  good  taste,  had  the  Eev.  Charles 
Merton !  —  his  table  plentiful,  but  plain  —  his  manners  affable 
to  the  low,  though  agreeably  sycophantic  to  the  high;  and 
there  was  nothing  about  him  that  ever  wounded  self-love.  To 
add  to  the  attractions  of  his  house,  his  wife,  simple  and  good- 
tempered,  could  talk  with  anybody,  take  off  the  bores,  and 
leave  people  to  be  comfortable  in  their  own  way :  while  he 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  57 

had  a  large  family  of  fine  children  of  all  ages,  that  had  long 
given  easy  and  constant  excuse  under  the  name  of  "little 
children's  parties,"  for  getting  up  an  impromptu  dance  or  a 
gypsy  dinner,  —  enlivening  the  neighbourhood,  in  short. 
Caroline  was  the  eldest;  then  came  a  son,  attached  to  a 
foreign  ministry,  and  another,  who,  though  only  nineteen, 
was  a  private  secretary  to  one  of  our  Indian  satraps.  The 
acquaintance  of  these  young  gentlemen,  thus  engaged,  it  was 
therefore  Evelyn's  misfortune  to  lose  the  advantage  of  culti- 
vating, —  a  loss  which  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merton  assured  her 
was  very  much  to  be  regretted.  But  to  make  up  to  her  for 
such  a  privation  there  were  two  lovely  little  girls,  one  ten, 
and  the  other  seven  years  old,  who  fell  in  love  with  Evelyn  at 
first  sight.  Caroline  was  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  county, 
clever  and  conversable,  "drew  young  men,"  and  set  the  fash- 
ion to  young  ladies,  especially  when  she  returned  from  spend- 
ing the  season  with  Lady  Elizabeth. 

It  was  a  delightful  family ! 

In  person,  Mr.  Merton  was  of  the  middle  height;  fair,  and 
inclined  to  stoutness,  with  small  features,  beautiful  teeth,  and 
great  suavity  of  address.  Mindful  still  of  the  time  when  he 
had  been  "  about  town, "  he  was  very  particular  in  his  dress : 
his  black  coat,  neatly  relieved  in  the  evening  by  a  white  un- 
derwaistcoat,  and  a  shirt-front  admirably  plaited,  with  plain 
studs  of  dark  enamel,  his  well-cut  trousers,  and  elaborately 
polished  shoes  —  he  was  good-humouredly  vain  of  his  feet 
and  hands  —  won  for  him  the  common  praise  of  the  dandies 
(who  occasionally  honoured  him  with  a  visit  to  shoot  his 
game,  and  flirt  with  his  daughter),  "  That  old  Merton  was  a 
most  gentlemanlike  fellow  —  so  d — d  neat  for  a  parson !  " 

Such,  mentally,  morally,  and  physically,  was  the  Rev. 
Charles  Merton,  rector  of  Merton,  brother  of  Sir  John,  and 
possessor  of  an  income  that,  what  with  his  rich  living,  his 
wife's  fortune,  and  his  own,  which  was  not  inconsiderable, 
amounted  to  between  four  and  five  thousand  pounds  a  year, 
which  income,  managed  with  judgment  as  well  as  liberality, 
could  not  fail  to  secure  to  him  all  the  good  things  of  this 
world,  —  the  respect  of  his  friends  amongst  the  rest.     Caro- 


68  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

line  was  right  when  she  told  Evelyn  that  her  papa  was  very 
different  from  a  mere  country  parson. 

Now  this  gentleman  could  not  fail  to  see  all  the  claims  that 
Evelyn  might  fairly  advance  upon  the  esteem,  nay,  the  ven- 
eration of  himself  and  family;  a  young  beauty,  with  a  fortune 
of  about  a  quarter  of  a  million,  was  a  phenomenon  that  might 
fairly  be  called  celestial.  Her  pretensions  were  enhanced  by 
her  engagement  to  Lord  Vargrave,  —  an  engagement  which 
might  be  broken;  so  that,  as  he  interpreted  it,  the  worst  that 
could  happen  to  the  young  lady  was  to  marry  an  able  and 
rising  Minister  of  State,  — a  peer  of  the  realm;  but  she  was 
perfectly  free  to  marry  a  still  greater  man,  if  she  could  find 
him ;  and  who  knows  but  what  perhaps  the  attache,  if  he  could 
get  leave  of  absence?  Mr.  Merton  was  too  sensible  to  pursue 
that  thought  further  for  the  present. 

The  good  man  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  too  familiar  man- 
ner in  which  Mrs.  Merton  spoke  to  this  high-fated  heiress,  at 
Evelyn's  travelling  so  far  without  her  own  maid,  at  her  very 
primitive  wardrobe  —  poor,  ill-used  child!  Mr.  Merton  was  a 
connoisseur  in  ladies'  dress.  It  was  quite  painful  to  see  that 
the  unfortunate  girl  had  been  so  neglected.  Lady  Vargrave 
must  be  a  very  strange  person.  He  inquired  compassionately 
whether,  she  was  allowed  any  pocket  money;  and  finding, 
to  his  relief,  that  in  that  respect  Miss  Cameron  was  munifi- 
cently supplied,  he  suggested  that  a  proper  abigail  should  be 
immediately  engaged;  that  proper  orders  to  Madame  Devy 
should  be  immediately  transmitted  to  London,  with  one  of 
Evelyn's  dresses,  as  a  pattern  for  nothing  but  length  and 
breadth.  He  almost  stamped  with  vexation  when  he  heard 
that  Evelyn  had  been  placed  in  one  of  the  neat  little  rooms 
generally  appropriated  to  young  lady  visitors. 

"She  is  quite  contented,  my  dear  Mr.  Merton;  she  is 
so  simple;  she  has  not  been  brought  up  in  the  style  you 
think  for." 

"  Mrs.  Merton, "  said  the  rector,  with  great  solemnity,  "  Miss 
Cameron  may  know  no  better  now;  but  what  will  she  think  of 
us  hereafter?  It  is  my  maxim  to  recollect  what  people  will 
be,  and  show  them  that  respect  which  may  leave  pleasing  im- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  59 

pressions  when  they  have  it  iu  their  power  to  show  us  civility 
in  return." 

With  many  apologies,  which  quite  overwhelmed  poor  Eve- 
lyn, she  was  transferred  from  the  little  chamber,  with  its 
French  bed  and  bamboo-coloured  washhand-stand,  to  an  apart- 
ment with  a  buhl  wardrobe  and  a  four-post  bed  with  green 
silk  curtains,  usually  appropriated  to  the  regular  Christmas 
visitant,  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Chipperton.  A  pretty 
morning  room  communicated  with  the  sleeping  apartment, 
and  thence  a  private  staircase  conducted  into  the  gardens. 
The  whole  family  were  duly  impressed  and  re-impressed  with 
her  importance.  No  queen  could  be  made  more  of.  Evelyn 
mistook  it  all  for  pure  kindness,  and  returned  the  hospitality 
with  an  affection  that  extended  to  the  whole  family,  but  par- 
ticularly to  the  two  little  girls,  and  a  beautiful  black  spaniel. 
Her  dresses  came  down  from  London;  her  abigail  arrived; 
the  buhl  wardrobe  was  duly  filled,  —  and  Evelyn  at  last 
learned  that  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  rich.  An  account  of  all 
these  proceedings  was  forwarded  to  Lady  Vargrave,  in  a  long 
and  most  complacent  letter,  by  the  rector  himself.  The 
answer  was  short,  but  it  contented  the  excellent  clergyman; 
for  it  approved  of  all  he  had  done,  and  begged  that  Miss 
Cameron  might  have  everything  that  seemed  proper  to  her 
station. 

By  the  same  post  came  two  letters  to  Evelyn  herself,  —  one 
from  Lady  Vargrave,  one  from  the  curate.  They  transported 
her  from  the  fine  room  and  the  buhl  wardrobe  to  the  cottage 
and  the  lawn;  and  the  fine  abigail,  when  she  came  to  dress 
her  young  lady's  hair,  found  her  weeping. 

It  was  a  matter  of  great  regret  to  the  rector  that  it  was  that 
time  of  year  when  —  precisely  because  the  country  is  most 
beautiful  —  every  one  worth  knowing  is  in  town.  Still,  how- 
ever, some  stray  guests  found  their  way  to  the  rectory  for  a 
day  or  two,  and  still  there  were  some  aristocratic  old  families 
in  the  neighbourhood,  who  never  went  up  to  London:  so  that 
two  days  in  the  week  the  rector's  wine  flowed,  the  whist- 
tables  were  set  out,  and  the  piano  called  into  requisition. 

Evelyn  —  the  object  of  universal  attention  and  admiration 


60  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

—  was  put  at  her  ease  by  her  station  itself;  for  good  manners 
come  like  an  instinct  to  those  on  whom  the  world  smiles. 
Insensibly  she  acquired  self-possession  and  the  smoothness 
of  society;  and  if  her  child-like  playfulness  broke  out  from 
all  conventional  restraint,  it  only  made  more  charming  and 
brilliant  the  great  heiress,  whose  delicate  and  fairy  cast  of 
beauty  so  well  became  her  graceful  abandon  of  manner,  and 
who  looked  so  unequivocally  ladylike  to  the  eyes  that  rested 
on  Madame  Devy's  blondes  and  satins. 

Caroline  was  not  so  gay  as  she  had  been  at  the  cottage. 
Something  seemed  to  weigh  upon  her  spirits :  she  was  often 
moody  and  thoughtful.  She  was  the  only  one  in  the  family 
not  good-tempered;  and  her  peevish  replies  to  her  parents, 
when  no  visitor  imposed  a  check  on  the  family  circle,  incon- 
ceivably pained  Evelyn,  and  greatly  contrasted  the  flow  of 
spirits  which  distinguished  her  when  she  found  somebody 
worth  listening  to.  Still  Evelyn  —  who,  where  she  once 
liked,  found  it  difficult  to  withdraw  regard  —  sought  to  over- 
look Caroline's  blemishes,  and  to  persuade  herself  of  a  thou- 
sand good  qualities  below  the  surface ;  and  her  generous  nature 
found  constant  opportunity  of  venting  itself  in  costly  gifts, 
selected  from  the  London  parcels,  with  which  the  officious 
Mr.  Merton  relieved  the  monotony  of  the  rectory.  These 
gifts  Caroline  could  not  refuse  without  paining  her  young 
friend.  She  took  them  reluctantly,  for,  to  do  her  justice, 
Caroline,  though  ambitious,  was  not  mean. 

Thus  time  passed  in  the  rectory,  in  gay  variety  and  constant 
entertainment;  and  all  things  combined  to  spoil  the  heiress, 
if,  indeed,  goodness  ever  is  spoiled  by  kindness  and  prosper- 
ity. Is  it  to  the  frost  or  to  the  sunshine  that  the  flower  opens 
its  petals,  or  the  fruit  ripens  from  the  blossom? 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  61 


CHAPTER  III. 
Rod.     How  sweet  these  solitary  places  are ! 

Ped.     What  strange  musick 

Was  that  we  heard  afar  off  ? 
Curio.  We  've  told  you  what  he  is,  what  time  we  've  sought  him, 

His  nature  and  his  name. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher  :  The  Pilgrim. 

One  day,  as  the  ladies  were  seated  in  Mrs.  Merton's  morn- 
ing-room, Evelyn,  who  had  been  stationed  by  the  window 
hearing  the  little  Cecilia  go  through  the  French  verbs,  and 
had  just  finished  that  agreeable  task,  exclaimed,  — 

"Do  tell  me  to  whom  that  old  house  belongs,  with  the 
picturesque  gable-end  and  Gothic  turrets,  there,  just  peeping 
through  the  trees,  — I  have  always  forgot  to  ask  you." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Miss  Cameron,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  "that  is 
Burleigh;  have  you  not  been  there?  How  stupid  in  Caroline 
not  to  show  it  to  you  !  It  is  one  of  the  lions  of  the  place.  It 
belongs  to  a  man  you  have  often  heard  of,  —  Mr..  Maltravers." 

"Indeed!"  cried  Evelyn;  and  she  gazed  with  new  interest 
on  the  gray  melancholy  pile,  as  the  sunshine  brought  it  into 
strong  contrast  with  the  dark  pines  around  it.  "And  Mr. 
Maltravers  himself — ?" 

"  Is  still  abroad,  I  believe ;  though  I  did  hear  the  other  day 
that  he  was  shortly  expected  at  Burleigh.  It  is  a  curious  old 
place,  though  much  neglected.  I  believe,  indeed,  it  has  not 
been  furnished  since  the  time  of  Charles  the  First.  (Cissy, 
my  love,  don't  stoop  so.)  Very  gloomy,  in  my  opinion;  and 
not  any  fine  room  in  the  house,  except  the  library,  which  was 
once  a  chapel.     However,  people  come  miles  to  see  it." 

"Will  you  go  there  to-day?"  said  Caroline,  languidly;  "it 
is  a  very  pleasant  walk  through  the  glebe-land  and  the  wood, 
—  not  above  half  a  mile  by  the  foot-path." 

"I  should  like  it  so  much." 


62  ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  "and  you  had  better  go  before 
he  returns,  —  he  is  so  strange.  He  does  not  allow  it  to  be 
seen  when  he  is  down.  But,  indeed,  he  has  only  been  once 
at  the  old  place  since  he  was  of  age.  (Sophy,  you  will  tear 
Miss  Cameron's  scarf  to  pieces;  do  be  quiet,  child.)  That 
was  before  he  was  a  great  man ;  he  was  then  very  odd,  saw  no 
society,  only  dined  once  with  us,  though  Mr.  Merton  paid  him 
every  attention.  They  show  the  room  in  which  he  wrote  his 
books." 

"I  remember  him  very  well,  though  I  was  then  but  a  child," 
said  Caroline,  — "a  handsome,  thoughtful  face." 

"Did  you  think  so,  my  dear?  Fine  eyes  and  teeth,  cer- 
tainly, and  a  commanding  figure,  but  nothing  more." 

"Well,"  said  Caroline,  "if  you  like  to  go,  Evelyn,  I  am  at 
your  service." 

"And  —  I  —  Evy,  dear  —  I — may  go,"  said  Cecilia,  cling- 
ing to  Evelyn. 

"And  me,  too,"  lisped  Sophia,  the  youngest  hope,  — 
"there  's  such  a  pretty  peacock." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  may  go,  Mrs.  Merton,  we  '11  take  such  care 
of  them." 

"Very  well,  my  dear;  Miss  Cameron  quite  spoils  you." 

Evelyn  tripped  away  to  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  the  children 
ran  after  her,  clapping  their  hands,  —  they  could  not  bear  to 
lose  sight  of  her  for  a  moment. 

"Caroline,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  affectionately,  "are  you  not 
well?  You  have  seemed  pale  lately,  and  not  in  your  usual 
spirits." 

"Oh;  yes,  I'm  well  enough,"  answered  Caroline,  rather 
peevishly;  "but  this  place  is  so  dull  now;  very  provoking 
that  Lady  Elizabeth  does  not  go  to  London  this  year." 

"  My  dear,  it  will  be  gayer,  I  hope,  in  July,  when  the  races 
at  Knaresdean  begin;  and  Lord  Vargrave  has  promised  to 
come." 

"  Has  Lord  Vargrave  written  to  you  lately?  '* 

"No,  my  dear." 

"Very  odd." 

"  Does  Evelyn  ever  talk  of  him?  " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  68 

"Not  much,"  said  Caroline,  rising  and  quitting  the  room. 

It  was  a  most  cheerful  exhilarating  day,  —  the  close  of 
sweet  May;  the  hedges  were  white  with  blossoms;  a  light 
breeze  rustled  the  young  leaves;  the  butterflies  had  ventured 
forth,  and  the  children  chased  them  over  the  grass,  as  Evelyn 
and  Caroline,  who  walked  much  too  slow  for  her  companion 
(Evelyn  longed  to  run),  followed  them  soberly  towards 
Burleigh. 

They  passed  the  glebe-fields;  and  a  little  bridge,  thrown 
over  a  brawling  rivulet,  conducted  them  into  a  wood. 

"This  stream,"  said  Caroline,  "forms  the  boundary  between 
my  uncle's  estates  and  those  of  Mr.  Maltravers.  It  must  be 
very  unpleasant  to  so  proud  a  man  as  Mr.  Maltravers  is  said 
to  be,  to  have  the  land  of  another  proprietor  so  near  his  house. 
He  could  hear  my  uncle's  gun  from  his  very  drawing-room. 
However,  Sir  John  takes  care  not  to  molest  him.  On  the 
other  side,  the  Burleigh  estates  extend  for  some  miles;  indeed, 
Mr.  Maltravers  is  the  next  great  proprietor  to  my  uncle  in  this 
part  of  the  county.  Very  strange  that  he  does  not  marry! 
There,  now  you  can  see  the  house." 

The  mansion  lay  somewhat  low,  with  hanging  woods  in  the 
rear:  and  the  old-fashioned  fish-ponds  gleaming  in  the  sun- 
shine and  overshadowed  by  gigantic  trees  increased  the  vener- 
able stillness  of  its  aspect.  Ivy  and  innumerable  creepers 
covered  one  side  of  the  house ;  and  long  weeds  cumbered  the 
deserted  road. 

*'It  is  sadly  neglected,"  said  Caroline;  "and  was  so,  even 
in  the  last  owner's  life.  Mr.  Maltravers  inherits  the  place 
from  his  mother's  uncle.  We  may  as  well  enter  the  house  by 
the  private  way.     The  front  entrance  is  kept  locked  up." 

Winding  by  a  path  that  conducted  into  a  flower-garden, 
divided  from  the  park  by  a  ha-ha,  over  which  a  plank  and  a 
small  gate,  rusting  off  its  hinges,  were  placed,  Caroline  led 
the  way  towards  the  building.  At  this  point  of  view  it  pre- 
sented a  large  bay  window  that  by  a  flight  of  four  steps  led 
into  the  garden.  On  one  side  rose  a  square,  narrow  turret, 
surmounted  by  a  gilt  dome  and  quaint  weathercock,  below  the 
architrave  of  which  was  a  sun-dial,  set  in  the  stonework;  and 


64  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

another  dial  stood  in  the  garden,  with  the  common  and  beau- 
tiful motto,  — 

"  Non  nnmero  boras,  nisi  serenas ! "  ^ 

On  the  other  side  of  the  bay  window  a  huge  buttress  cast  its 
mass  of  shadow.  There  was  something  in  the  appearance  of 
the  whole  place  that  invited  to  contemplation  and  repose,  — 
something  almost  monastic.  The  gayety  of  the  teeming 
spring-time  could  not  divest  the  spot  of  a  certain  sadness,  not 
displeasing,  however,  whether  to  the  young,  to  whom  there  is 
a  luxury  in  the  vague  sentiment  of  melancholy,  or  to  those 
who,  having  known  real  griefs,  seek  for  an  anodyne  in  medita- 
tion and  memory.  The  low  lead-coloured  door,  set  deep  in  the 
turret,  was  locked,  and  the  bell  beside  it  broken.  Caroline 
turned  impatiently  away.  "  We  must  go  round  to  the  other 
side,"  said  she,  "and  try  to  make  the  deaf  old  man  hear  us." 

"Oh,  Carry!"  cried  Cecilia,  "the  great  window  is  open;" 
and  she  ran  up  the  steps. 

"That  is  lucky,"  said  Caroline;  and  the  rest  followed 
Cecilia. 

Evelyn  now  stood  within  the  library  of  which  Mrs.  Merton 
had  spoken.  It  was  a  large  room,  about  fifty  feet  in  length, 
and  proportionably  wide;  somewhat  dark,  for  the  light  came 
only  from  the  one  large  window  through  which  they  entered ; 
and  though  the  window  rose  to  the  cornice  of  the  ceiling,  and 
took  up  one  side  of  the  apartment,  the  daylight  was  subdued 
by  the  heaviness  of  the  stonework  in  which  the  narrow  panes 
were  set,  and  by  the  glass  stained  with  armorial  bearings  in 
the  upper  part  of  the  casement.  The  bookcases,  too,  were  of 
the  dark  oak  which  so  much  absorbs  the  light;  and  the  gild- 
ing, formerly  meant  to  relieve  them,  was  discoloured  by  time. 

The  room  was  almost  disproportionably  lofty;  the  ceiling, 
elaborately  coved,  and  richly  carved  with  grotesque  masks, 
preserved  the  Gothic  character  of  the  age  in  which  it  had 
been  devoted  to  a  religious  purpose.  Two  fireplaces,  with 
high  chimney-pieces  of  oak,  in  which  were  inserted  two  por- 
traits, broke  the  symmetry  of  the  tall  bookcases.     In  one  of 

'  "  I  Dumber  not  tbe  hours,  unless  sunny." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  65 

these  fireplaces  were  half-burnt  logs;  and  a  huge  armchair, 
with  a  small  reading-desk  beside  it,  seemed  to  bespeak  the 
recent  occupation  of  the  room.  On  the  fourth  side,  opposite 
the  window,  the  wall  was  covered  with  faded  tapestry,  repre- 
senting the  meeting  of  Solomon  and  the  Queen  of  Sheba;  the 
arras  was  nailed  over  doors  on  either  hand, — the  chinks 
between  the  door  and  the  wall  serving,  in  one  instance,  to  cut 
ofE  in  the  middle  his  wise  majesty,  who  was  making  a  low 
bow;  while  in  the  other  it  took  the  ground  from  under  the 
wanton  queen,  just  as  she  was  descending  from  her  chariot. 

Near  the  window  stood  a  grand  piano,  the  only  modern 
article  in  the  room,  save  one  of  the  portraits,  presently  to  be 
described.  On  all  this  Evelyn  gazed  silently  and  devoutly: 
she  had  naturally  that  reverence  for  genius  which  is  common 
to  the  enthusiastic  and  young;  and  there  is,  even  to  the  dull- 
est, a  certain  interest  in  the  homes  of  those  who  have  im- 
planted within  us  a  new  thought.  But  here  there  was,  she 
imagined,  a  rare  and  singular  harmony  between  the  place 
and  the  mental  characteristics  of  the  owner.  She  fancied 
she  now  better  understood  the  shadowy  and  metaphysical 
repose  of  thought  that  had  distinguished  the  earlier  writ- 
ings of  Maltravers,  —  the  writings  composed  or  planned  in 
this  still  retreat. 

But  what  particularly  caught  her  attention  was  one  of  the 
two  portraits  that  adorned  the  mantelpieces.  The  further  one 
was  attired  in  the  rich  and  fanciful  armour  of  the  time  of 
Elizabeth ;  the  head  bare,  the  helmet  on  a  table  on  which  the 
hand  rested.  It  was  a  handsome  and  striking  countenance; 
and  an  inscription  announced  it  to  be  a  Digby,  an  ancestor  of 
Maltravers. 

But  the  other  was  a  beautiful  girl  of  about  eighteen,  in  the 
now  almost  antiquated  dress  of  forty  years  ago.  The  features 
were  delicate,  but  the  colours  somewhat  faded,  and  there  was 
something  mournful  in  the  expression.  A  silk  curtain,  drawn 
on  one  side,  seemed  to  denote  how  carefully  it  was  prized  by 
the  possessor. 

Evelyn  turned  for  explanation  to  her  cicerone. 

"This  is  the  second  time  I  have  seen  that  picture,"  said 

5 


66  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Caroline ;  "  for  it  is  only  by  great  entreaty  and  as  a  mysteri- 
ous favour  that  the  old  housekeeper  draws  aside  the  veil. 
Some  touch  of  sentiment  in  Maltravers  makes  him  regard  it 
as  sacred.  It  is  the  picture  of  his  mother  before  she  married; 
she  died  in  giving  him  birth." 

Evelyn  sighed;  how  well  she  understood  the  sentiment 
which  seemed  to  Caroline  so  eccentric!  The  countenance 
fascinated  her;  the  eye  seemed  to  follow  her  as  she  turned. 

"As  a  proper  pendant  to  this  picture,"  said  Caroline,  "he 
ought  to  have  dismissed  the  efi&gies  of  yon  warlike  gentleman, 
and  replaced  it  by  one  of  poor  Lady  Florence  Lascelles,  for 
whose  loss  he  is  said  to  have  quitted  his  country:  but,  per- 
haps, it  was  the  loss  of  her  fortune." 

"How  can  you  say  so?  —  fie!"  cried  Evelyn,  with  a  burst 
of  generous  indignation. 

"Ah,  my  dear,  you  heiresses  have  a  fellow-feeling  with 
each  other!  Nevertheless,  clever  men  are  less  sentimental 
than  we  deem  them.  Heigho!  this  quiet  room  gives  me  the 
spleen,  I  fancy." 

"Dearest  Evy,"  whispered  Cecilia,  "I  think  you  have  a 
look  of  that  pretty  picture,  only  you  are  much  prettier.  Do 
take  off  your  bonnet;  your  hair  just  falls  down  like  hers." 

Evelyn  shook  her  head  gravely ;  but  the  spoiled  child  hastily 
untied  the  ribbons  and  snatched  away  the  hat,  and  Evelyn's 
sunny  ringlets  fell  down  in  beautiful  disorder.  There  was  no 
resemblance  between  Evelyn  and  the  portrait,  except  in  the 
colour  of  the  hair,  and  the  careless  fashion  it  now  by  chance 
assumed.  Yet  Evelyn  was  pleased  to  think  that  a  likeness 
did  exist,  though  Caroline  declared  it  was  a  most  unflattering 
compliment. 

"1  don't  wonder,"  said  the  latter,  changing  the  theme, — 
"  I  don't  wonder  Mr.  Maltravers  lives  so  little  in  this  *  Castle 
Dull; '  yet  it  might  be  much  improved.  French  windows  and 
plate-glass,  for  instance;  and  if  those  lumbering  bookshelves 
and  horrid  old  chimney-pieces  were  removed  and  the  ceiling 
painted  white  and  gold  like  that  in  my  uncle's  saloon,  and  a 
rich,  lively  paper,  instead  of  the  tapestry,  it  would  really 
make  a  very  fine  ballroom." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  67 

"Let  us  have  a  dance  here  now,"  cried  Cecilia.  "Come, 
stand  up,  Sophy;  "  and  the  children  began  to  practise  a  waltz 
step,  tumbling  over  each  other,  and  laughing  in  full  glee. 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  said  Evelyn,  softly.  She  had  never  before 
checked  the  children's  mirth,  and  she  could  not  tell  why  she 
did  so  now. 

"  I  suppose  the  old  butler  has  been  entertaining  the  bailiff 
here,"  said  Caroline,  pointing  to  the  remains  of  the  fire. 

"  And  is  this  the  room  he  chiefly  inhabited,  —  the  room  that 
you  say  they  show  as  his?" 

"No;  that  tapestry  door  to  the  right  leads  into  ^  little 
study  where  he  wrote."  So  saying,  Caroline  tried  to  open 
the  door,  but  it  was  locked  from  within.  She  then  opened 
the  other  door,  which  showed  a  long  wainscoted  passage,  hung 
with  rusty  pikes,  and  a  few  breastplates  of  the  time  of  the 
Parliamentary  Wars.  "This  leads  to  the  main  body  of  the 
house,"  said  Caroline,  "from  which  the  room  we  are  now  in 
and  the  little  study  are  completely  detached,  having,  as  you 
know,  been  the  chapel  in  popish  times.  I  have  heard  that  Sir 
Kenelm  Digby,  an  ancestral  connection  of  the  present  owner, 
first  converted  them  into  their  present  use,  and,  in  return, 
built  the  village  church  on  the  other  side  of  the  park." 

Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  the  old  cavalier  philosopher! — a  new 
name  of  interest  to  consecrate  the  place !  Evelyn  could  have 
lingered  all  day  in  the  room;  and  perhaps  as  an  excuse  for  a 
longer  sojourn,  hastened  to  the  piano  —  it  was  open  —  she  ran 
her  fairy  fingers  over  the  keys,  and  the  sound  from  the  un- 
tuned and  neglected  instrument  thrilled  wild  and  spiritlike 
through  the  melancholy  chamber, 

"Oh,  do  sing  us  something,  Evy,"  cried  Cecilia,  running  up 
to,  and  drawing  a  chair  to,  the  instrument. 

"Do,  Evelyn,"  said  Caroline,  languidly;  "it  will  serve  to 
bring  one  of  the  servants  to  us,  and  save  us  a  journey  to  the 
offices." 

It  was  just  what  Evelyn  wished.  Some  verses,  which  her 
mother  especially  loved,  verses  written  by  Maltravers  upon 
returning  after  absence  to  his  own  home,  had  rushed  into  her 
mind  as  she  had  touched  the  keys.     They  were  appropriate 


68  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

to  the  place,  and  had  been  beautifully  set  to  music.  So  the 
children  hushed  themselves,  and  nestled  at  her  feet;  and 
after  a  little  prelude,  keeping  the  accompaniment  under,  that 
the  spoiled  instrument  might  not  mar  the  sweet  words  and 
sweeter  voice,  she  began  the  song. 

Meanwhile  in  the  adjoining  room,  the  little  study  which 
Caroline  had  spoken  of,  sat  the  owner  of  the  house!  He  had 
returned  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  the  previous  night.  The 
old  steward  was  in  attendance  at  the  moment,  full  of  apolo- 
gies, congratulations,  and  gossip;  and  Maltravers,  grown  a 
stern  ^nd  haughty  man,  was  already  impatiently  turning 
away,  when  he  heard  the  sudden  sound  of  the  children's 
laughter  and  loud  voices  in  the  room  beyond.  Maltravers 
frowned. 

"What  impertinence  is  this?"  said  he  in  a  tone  that, 
though  very  calm,  made  the  steward  quake  in  his  shoes. 

"I  don't  know,  really,  your  honour;  there  be  so  many  grand 
folks  come  to  see  the  house  in  the  fine  weather,  that  —  " 

"And  you  permit  your  master's  house  to  be  a  raree-show? 
You  do  well,  sir." 

"  If  your  honour  were  more  amongst  us,  there  might  be 
more  discipline  like, "  said  the  steward,  stoutly ;  "  but  no  one 
in  my  time  has  cared  so  little  for  the  old  place  as  those  it 
belongs  to." 

"Fewer  words  with  me,  sir,"  said  Maltravers,  haughtily; 
"and  now  go  and  inform  those  people  that  I  am  returned,  and 
wish  for  no  guests  but  those  I  invite  myself." 

"Sir!" 

"Do  you  not  hear  me?  Say  that  if  it  so  please  them,  these 
old  ruins  are  my  property,  and  are  not  to  be  jobbed  out  to  the 
insolence  of  public  curiosity.     Go,  sir." 

"  But  —  I  beg  pardon,  your  honour  —  if  they  be  great 
folks?" 

"Great  folks! —  great!  Ay,  there  it  is.  Why,  if  they  be 
great  folks,  they  have  great  houses  of  their  own,  Mr.  Justis." 

The  steward  stared.  "  Perhaps,  your  honour, "  he  put  in, 
deprecatingly,  "they  be  Mr.  Merton's  family:  they  come  very 
often  when  the  London  gentlemen  are  with  them." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  69 

"  Merton !  —  oh,  the  cringing  parson.  Harkye !  one  word 
more  with  me,  sir,  and  you  quit  my  service  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Justis  lifted  his  eyes  and  hands  to  heaven;  but  there 
was  something  in  his  master's  voice  and  look  which  checked 
reply,  and  he  turned  slowly  to  the  door  —  when  a  voice  of 
such  heavenly  sweetness  was  heard  without  that  it  arrested 
his  own  step  and  made  the  stern  Maltravers  start  in  his  seat. 
He  held  up  his  hand  to  the  steward  to  delay  his  errand,  and 
listened,  charmed  and  spell-bound.  His  own  words  came  on 
his  ear,  —  words  long  unfamiliar  to  him,  and  at  first  but  im- 
perfectly remembered;  words  connected  with  the  early  and 
virgin  years  of  poetry  and  aspiration ;  words  that  were  as  the 
ghosts  of  thoughts  now  far  too  gentle  for  his  altered  soul.  He 
bowed  down  his  head,  and  the  dark  shade  left  his  brow. 

The  song  ceased.  Maltravers  moved  with  a  sigh,  and  his 
eyes  rested  on  the  form  of  the  steward  with  his  hand  on  the 
door. 

"Shall  I  give  your  honour's  message?"  said  Mr.  Justis, 
gravely. 

"No;  take  care  for  the  future;  leave  me  now." 

Mr.  Justis  made  one  leg,  and  then,  well  pleased,  took  to 
both. 

"Well,"  thought  he,  as  he  departed,  "how  foreign  parts  do 
spoil  a  gentleman !  so  mild  as  he  was  once !  I  must  botch  up 
the  accounts,  I  see,  — the  squire  has  grown  sharp." 

As  Evelyn  concluded  her  song,  she  —  whose  charm  in  sing- 
ing was  that  she  sang  from  the  heart  —  was  so  touched  by  the 
melancholy  music  of  the  air  and  words,  that  her  voice  fal- 
tered, and  the  last  line  died  inaudibly  on  her  lips. 

The  children  sprang  up  and  kissed  her. 

"Oh,"  cried  Cecilia,  "there  is  the  beautiful  peacock!" 
And  there,  indeed,  on  the  steps  without  —  perhaps  attracted 
by  the  music  —  stood  the  picturesque  bird.  The  children  ran 
out  to  greet  their  old  favourite,  who  was  extremely  tame;  and 
presently  Cecilia  returned. 

"Oh,  Carry!  do  see  what  beautiful  horses  are  coming  up 
the  park ! " 

Caroline,  who  was  a  good  rider,  and  fond  of  horses,  and 


70  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

whose  curiosity  was  always  aroused  by  things  connected  with 
show  and  station,  suffered  the  little  girl  to  draw  her  into  the 
garden.  Two  grooms,  each  mounted  on  a  horse  of  the  pure 
Arabian  breed,  and  each  leading  another,  swathed  and  ban- 
daged, were  riding  slowly  up  the  road;  and  Caroline  was  so 
attracted  by  the  novel  appearance  of  the  animals  in  a  place  so 
deserted  that  she  followed  the  children  towards  them,  to  learn 
who  could  possibly  be  their  enviable  owner.  Evelyn,  forgot- 
ten for  the  moment,  remained  alone.  She  was  pleased  at 
being  so,  and  once  more  turned  to  the  picture  which  had  so 
attracted  her  before.  The  mild  eyes  fixed  on  her,  with  an 
expression  that  recalled  to  her  mind  her  own  mother. 

"And,"  thought  she,  as  she  gazed,  "this  fair  creature  did 
not  live  to  know  the  fame  of  her  son,  to  rejoice  in  his  success, 
or  to  soothe  his  grief.  And  he,  that  son,  a  disappointed  and 
solitary  exile  in  distant  lands,  while  strangers  stand  within 
his  deserted  hall !  " 

The  images  she  had  conjured  up  moved  and  absorbed  her; 
and  she  continued  to  stand  before  the  picture,  gazing  upward 
with  moistened  eyes.  It  was  a  beautiful  vision  as  she  thus 
stood,  with  her  delicate  bloom,  her  luxuriant  hair  (for  the  hat 
was  not  yet  replaced),  her  elastic  form,  so  full  of  youth  and 
health  and  hope,  —  the  living  form  beside  the  faded  canvas  of 
the  dead,  once  youthful,  tender,  lovely  as  herself!  Evelyn 
turned  away  with  a  sigh;  the  sigh  was  re-echoed  yet  more 
deeply.  She  started:  the  door  that  led  to  the  study  was 
opened,  and  in  the  aperture  was  the  figure  of  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life.  His  hair,  still  luxuriant  as  in  his  earliest 
youth,  though  darkened  by  the  suns  of  the  East,  curled  over 
a  forehead  of  majestic  expanse.  The  high  and  proud  features, 
that  well  became  a  stature  above  the  ordinary  standard ;  the 
pale  but  bronzed  complexion ;  the  large  eyes  of  deepest  blue, 
shaded  by  dark  brows  and  lashes;  and  more  than  all,  that 
expression  at  once  of  passion  and  repose  which  characterizes 
the  old  Italian  portraits,  and  seems  to  denote  the  inscrutable 
power  that  experience  imparts  to  intellect,  constituted  an 
ensemble  which,  if  not  faultlessly  handsome,  was  eminently 
striking,  and  formed  at  once  to  interest  and  command.     It 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES.  71 

was  a  face,  once  seen,  never  to  be  forgotten;  it  was  a  face 
that  had  long,  half  unconsciously,  haunted  Evelyn's  young 
dreams;  it  was  a  face  she  had  seen  before,  though,  then 
younger  and  milder  and  fairer,  it  wore  a  different  aspect. 

Evelyn  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  feeling  herself  blush  to 
her  very  temples,  —  an  enchanting  picture  of  bashful  confu- 
sion and  innocent  alarm. 

"Do  not  let  me  regret  my  return,"  said  the  stranger, 
approaching  after  a  short  pause,  and  with  much  gentleness 
in  his  voice  and  smile;  "and  think  that  the  owner  is  doomed 
to  scare  away  the  fair  spirits  that  haunted  the  spot  in  his 
absence." 

"  The  owner !  "  repeated  Evelyn,  almost  inaudibly ,  and  in 
increased  embarrassment;  "are  you  then  the  —  the  —  " 

"Yes,"  courteously  interrupted  the  stranger,  seeing  her 
confusion,  "my  name  is  Maltravers;  and  I  am  to  blame  for 
not  having  informed  you  of  my  sudden  return,  or  for  now  tres- 
passing on  your  presence.  But  you  see  my  excuse;"  and  he 
pointed  to  the  instrument.  "  You  have  the  magic  that  draws 
even  the  serpent  from  his  hole.     But  you  are  not  alone?  " 

"Oh,  no!  no,  indeed!  Miss  Merton  is  with  me.  1  know 
not  where  she  is  gone.     I  will  seek  her." 

"  Miss  Merton !    You  are  not  then  one  of  that  family?  " 

"No,  only  a  guest.  I  will  find  her;  she  must  apologize  for 
us.  We  were  not  aware  that  you  were  here,  —  indeed  we 
were  not." 

"That  is  a  cruel  excuse,"  said  Maltravers,  smiling  at  her 
eagerness:  and  the  smile  and  the  look  reminded  her  yet  more 
forcibly  of  the  time  when  he  had  carried  her  in  his  arms  and 
soothed  her  suffering  and  praised  her  courage  and  pressed  the 
kiss  almost  of  a  lover  on  her  hand.  At  that  thought  she 
blushed  yet  more  deeply,  and  yet  more  eagerly  turned  to 
escape. 

Maltravers  did  not  seek  to  detain  her,  but  silently  followed 
her  steps.  She  had  scarcely  gained  the  window,  before  little 
Cecilia  scampered  in,  crying,  — 

"  Only  think !  Mr.  Maltravers  has  come  back,  and  brought 
such  beautiful  horses! " 


72  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Cecilia  stopped  abruptly,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  stranger; 
and  the  next  moment  Caroline  herself  appeared.  Her  worldly 
experience  aud  quick  sense  saw  immediately  what  had  chanced ; 
and  she  hastened  to  apologize  to  Maltravers,  and  congratulate 
him  on  his  return,  with  an  ease  that  astonished  poor  Evelyn, 
aud  by  no  means  seemed  appreciated  by  Maltravers  himself. 
He  replied  with  brief  and  haughty  courtesy. 

"My  father,"  continued  Caroline,  "will  be  so  glad  to  hear 
you  are  come  back.  He  will  hasten  to  pay  you  his  respects, 
and  apologize  for  his  truants.  But  I  have  not  formally  intro- 
duced you  to  my  fellow-offender.  My  dear,  let  me  present  to 
you  one  whom  Fame  has  already  made  known  to  you;  Mr. 
Maltravers,  Miss  Cameron,  step-daughter,"  she  added  in  a 
lower  voice,  "to  the  late  Lord  Vargrave." 

At  the  first  part  of  this  introduction  Maltravers  frowned} 
at  the  last  he  forgot  all  displeasure. 

"Is  it  possible?  I  thought  I  had  seen  you  before,  but  in  a 
dream.     Ah,  then  we  are  not  quite  strangers !  " 

Evelyn's  eye  met  his,  and  though  she  coloured  and  strove 
to  look  grave,  a  half  smile  brought  out  the  dimples  that  played 
round  her  arch  lips. 

"But  you  do  not  remember  me?"  added  Maltravers. 

"Oh,  yes!  "  exclaimed  Evelyn,  with  a  sudden  impulse;  and 
then  checked  herself. 

Caroline  came  to  her  friend's  relief. 

"What  is  this?  You  surprise  me;  where  did  you  ever  see 
Mr.  Maltravers  before?" 

"I  can  answer  that  question.  Miss  Merton.  When  Miss 
Cameron  was  but  a  child,  as  high  as  my  little  friend  here,  an 
accident  on  the  road  procured  me  her  acquaintance ;  and  the 
sweetness  and  fortitude  she  then  displayed  left  an  impression 
on  me  not  worn  out  even  to  this  day.  And  thus  we  meet 
again,"  added  Maltravers,  in  a  muttered  voice,  as  to  himself. 
"How  strange  a  thing  life  is!  " 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Merton,  "we  must  intrude  on  you  no 
more,  — you  have  so  much  to  do.  I  am  so  sorry  Sir  John  is 
not  down  to  welcome  you;  but  I  hope  we  shall  be  good  neigh- 
bours.    Au  revoir  /  " 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  7^ 

And,  fancying  herself  most  charming,  Caroline  bowed, 
smiled,  and  walked  off  with  her  train.  Maltravers  paused 
irresolute.  If  Evelyn  had  looked  back,  he  would  have  accom- 
panied them  home ;  but  Evelyn  did  not  look  back,  —  and  he 
stayed. 

Miss  Merton  rallied  her  young  friend  unmercifully,  as  they 
walked  homeward,  and  she  extracted  a  very  brief  and  imper- 
fect history  of  the  adventure  that  had  formed  the  first 
acquaintance,  and  of  the  interview  by  which  it  had  been 
renewed.  But  Evelyn  did  not  heed  her;  and  the  moment 
they  arrived  at  the  rectory,  she  hastened  to  shut  herself  m 
her  room,  and  write  the  account  of  her  adventure  to  her 
mother.  How  often,  in  her  girlish  reveries,  had  she  thought 
of  that  incident,  that  stranger!  And  now,  by  such  a  chance, 
and  after  so  many  years,  to  meet  the  Unknown  by  his  own 
hearth !  and  that  Unknown  to  be  Maltravers !  It  was  as  if  a 
dream  had  come  true.  While  she  was  yet  musing  —  and  the 
letter  not  yet  begun  —  she  heard  the  sound  of  joy-bells  in  the 
distance.  At  once  she  divined  the  cause ;  it  was  the  welcome 
of  the  wanderer  to  his  solitary  home  I 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Mai8  en  connaissant  votre  condition  naturelle,  usez  des  moyens  qui  lui  sont 
propres,  et  ne  pre'teudez  pas  re'gner  par  uue  autre  voie  que  par  celle  qui  vous 
fait  roi.i  —  Pascal. 

In  the  heart  as  in  the  ocean,  the  great  tides  ebb  and  flow. 
The  waves  which  had  once  urged  on  the  spirit  of  Ernest 
Maltravers  to  the  rocks  and  shoals  of  active  life  had  long 
since  receded  back  upon  the  calm  depths,  and  left  the  strandi 
bare.     With   a   melancholy  and  disappointed   mind,  he  had 

^  "  But  in  understanding  your  natural  condition,  use  the  means  which  are 
proper  to  it ;  and  pretend  not  to  govern  by  any  other  way  than  by  that  which 
constitutes  you  governor." 


74  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

quitted  the  land  of  his  birth;  and  new  scenes,  strange  and 
wild,  had  risen  before  his  wandering  gaze.  Wearied  with 
civilization,  and  sated  with  many  of  the  triumphs  for  which 
civilized  men  drudge  and  toil,  and  disquiet  themselves  in 
vain,  he  had  plunged  amongst  hordes,  scarce  redeemed  from 
primeval  barbarism.  The  adventures  through  which  he  had 
passed,  and  in  which  life  itself  could  only  be  preserved  by 
warj'^  vigilance  and  ready  energies,  had  forced  him,  for  a 
while,  from  the  indulgence  of  morbid  contemplations.  His 
heart,  indeed,  had  been  left  inactive ;  but  his  intellect  and  his 
physical  powers  had  been  kept  in  hourly  exercise.  He  re- 
turned to  the  world  of  his  equals  with  a  mind  laden  with  the 
treasures  of  a  various  and  vast  experience,  and  with  much  of 
the  same  gloomy  moral  as  that  which,  on  emerging  from  the 
Catacombs,  assured  the  restless  speculations  of  Easselas  of 
the  vanity  of  human  life  and  the  folly  of  moral  aspirations. 

Ernest  Maltravers,  never  a  faultless  or  completed  character, 
falling  short  in  practice  of  his  own  capacities,  moral  and 
intellectual,  from  his  very  desire  to  overpass  the  limits  of  the 
Great  and  Good,  was  seemingly  as  far  as  heretofore  from 
the  grand  secret  of  life.  It  was  not  so  in  reality;  his  mind 
had  acquired  what  before  it  wanted,  —  hardness  ;  and  we  are 
nearer  to  true  virtue  and  true  happiness  when  we  demand 
too  little  from  men  than  when  we  exact  too  much. 

Nevertheless,  partly  from  the  strange  life  that  had  thrown 
him  amongst  men  whom  safety  itself  made  it  necessary  to 
command  despotically,  partly  from  the  habit  of  power  and 
disdain  of  the  world,  his  nature  was  incrusted  with  a  stern 
imperiousness  of  manner,  often  approaching  to  the  harsh  and 
morose,  though  beneath  it  lurked  generosity  and  benevolence. 

Many  of  his  younger  feelings,  more  amiable  and  complex, 
had  settled  into  one  predominant  quality,  which  more  or  less 
had  always  characterized  him,  —  Pride !  Self-esteem  made 
inactive,  and  Ambition  made  discontented,  usually  engender 
haughtiness.  In  Maltravers  this  quality,  which,  properly 
controlled  and  duly  softened,  is  the  essence  and  life  of  hon- 
our, was  carried  to  a  vice.  He  was  perfectly  conscious  of  its 
excess,  but  he  cherished  it  as  a  virtue.     Pride  had  served  to 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  76 

console  him  in  sorrow,  and  therefore  it  was  a  friend;  it  had 
supported  him  when  disgusted  with  fraud,  or  in  resistance  to 
violence,  and  therefore  it  was  a  champion  and  a  fortress.  It 
was  a  pride  of  a  peculiar  sort:  it  attached  itself  to  no  one 
point  in  especial,  —  not  to  talent,  knowledge,  mental  gifts, 
still  less  to  the  vulgar  commonplaces  of  birth  and  fortune;  it 
rather  resulted  from  a  supreme  and  wholesale  contempt  of  all 
other  men,  and  all  their  objects,  —  of  ambition,  of  glory,  of 
the  hard  business  of  life.  His  favourite  virtue  was  fortitude ; 
it  was  on  this  that  he  now  mainly  valued  himself.  He  was 
proud  of  his  struggles  against  others,  prouder  still  of  con- 
quests over  his  own  passions.  He  looked  upon  fate  as  the 
arch  enemy  against  whose  attacks  we  should  ever  prepare. 
He  fancied  that  against  fate  he  had  thoroughly  schooled  him- 
self. In  the  arrogance  of  his  heart  he  said,  "I  can  defy  the 
future."  He  believed  in  the  boast  of  the  vain  old  sage,  — 
"  I  am  a  world  to  myself!  "  In  the  wild  career  through  which 
his  later  manhood  had  passed,  it  is  true  that  he  had  not  car- 
ried his  philosophy  into  a  rejection  of  the  ordinary  world. 
The  shock  occasioned  by  the  death  of  Florence  yielded  grad- 
ually to  time  and  change ;  and  he  had  passed  from  the  deserts 
of  Africa  and  the  East  to  the  brilliant  cities  of  Europe.  But 
neither  his  heart  nor  his  reason  had  ever  again  been  enslaved 
by  his  passions.  Never  again  had  he  known  the  softness  of 
affection.  Had  he  done  so,  the  ice  had  been  thawed,  and  the 
fountain  had  flowed  once  more  into  the  great  deeps.  He  had 
returned  to  England, — he  scarce  knew  wherefore,  or  with 
what  intent,  certainly  not  with  any  idea  of  entering  again 
upon  the  occupations  of  active  life;  it  was,  perhaps,  only  the 
weariness  of  foreign  scenes  and  unfamiliar  tongues,  and  the 
vague,  unsettled  desire  of  change,  that  brought  him  back  to 
the  fatherland.  But  he  did  not  allow  so  unphilosophical  a 
cause  to  himself :  and,  what  was  strange,  he  would  not  allow 
one  much  more  amiable,  and  which  was,  perhaps,  the  truer 
cause,  —  the  increasing  age  and  infirmities  of  his  old  guar- 
dian, Cleveland,  who  prayed  him  affectionately  to  return. 
Maltravers  did  not  like  to  believe  that  his  heart  was  still  so 
kind.     Singular  form  of  pride !     No,  he  rather  sought  to  per- 


76  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

suade  himself  that  he  intended  to  sell  Burleigh,  to  arrange  his 
affairs  finally,  and  then  quit  forever  his  native  land.  To  prove 
to  himself  that  this  was  the  case,  he  had  intended  at  Dover  to 
hurry  at  once  to  Burleigh,  and  merely  write  to  Cleveland  that 
he  was  returned  to  England.  But  his  heart  would  not  suffer 
him  to  enjoy  this  cruel  luxury  of  self -mortification,  and  his 
horses'  heads  were  turned  to  Richmond  when  within  a  stage 
of  London.  He  had  spent  two  days  with  the  good  old  man, 
and  those  two  days  had  so  warmed  and  softened  his  feelings 
that  he  was  quite  appalled  at  his  own  dereliction  from  fixed 
principles !  However,  he  went  before  Cleveland  had  time  to 
discover  that  he  was  changed;  and  the  old  man  had  promised 
to  visit  him  shortly. 

This,  then,  was  the  state  of  Ernest  Maltravers  at  the  age  of 
thirty-six,  —  an  age  in  which  frame  and  mind  are  in  their 
fullest  perfection ;  an  age  in  which  men  begin  most  keenly  to 
feel  that  they  are  citizens.  With  all  his  energies  braced  and 
strengthened;  with  his  mind  stored  with  profusest  gifts;  in 
the  vigour  of  a  constitution  to  which  a  hardy  life  had  imparted 
a  second  and  fresher  youth;  so  trained  by  stern  experience  as 
to  redeem  with  an  easy  effort  all  the  deficiencies  and  faults 
which  had  once  resulted  from  too  sensitive  an  imagination  and 
too  high  a  standard  for  human  actions ;  formed  to  render  to 
his  race  the  most  brilliant  and  durable  service,  and  to  secure 
to  himself  the  happiness  which  results  from  sobered  fancy,  a 
generous  heart,  and  an  approving  conscience,  —  here  was 
Ernest  Maltravers,  backed,  too,  by  the  appliances  and  gifts 
of  birth  and  fortune,  perversely  shutting  up  genius,  life,  and 
soul  in  their  own  thorny  leaves,  and  refusing  to  serve  the 
fools  and  rascals  who  were  formed  from  the  same  clay,  and 
gifted  by  the  same  God.  Morbid  and  morose  philosophy, 
begot  by  a  proud  spirit  on  a  lonely  heart! 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  77 


CHAPTER  V. 

Let  such  amongst  us  as  are  willing  to  be  children  again,  if  it  be  only  for 
an  hour,  resign  ourselves  to  the  sweet  enchantment  that  steals  upon  the  spirit 
when  it  indulges  in  the  memory  of  early  and  innocent  enjoyment. 

D.  L.  Richardson. 

At  dinner,  Caroline's  lively  recital  of  their  adventures  was 
received  with  much  interest,  not  only  by  the  Merton  family, 
but  by  some  of  the  neighbouring  gentry  who  shared  the  rec- 
tor's hospitality.  The  sudden  return  of  any  proprietor  to  his 
old  hereditary  seat  after  a  prolonged  absence  makes  some  sen- 
sation in  a  provincial  neighbourhood.  In  this  case,  where 
the  proprietor  was  still  young,  unmarried,  celebrated,  and 
handsome,  the  sensation  was  of  course  proportionably  in- 
creased. Caroline  and  Evelyn  were  beset  by  questions,  to 
which  the  former  alone  gave  any  distinct  reply.  Caroline's 
account  was,  on  the  whole,  gracious  and  favourable,  and 
seemed  complimentary  to  all  but  Evelyn,  who  thought  that 
Caroline  was  a  very  indifferent  portrait-painter. 

It  seldom  happens  that  a  man  is  a  prophet  in  his  own 
neighbourhood;  but  Maltravers  had  been  so  little  in  the 
county,  and  in  his  former  visit  his  life  had  been  so  secluded, 
that  he  was  regarded  as  a  stranger.  He  had  neither  outshone 
the  establishments  nor  interfered  with  the  sporting  of  his  fel- 
low-squires; and  on  the  whole,  they  made  just  allowance  for 
his  habits  of  distant  reserve.  Time,  and  his  retirement  from 
the  busy  scene,  long  enough  to  cause  him  to  be  missed,  not 
long  enough  for  new  favourites  to  supply  his  place,  had 
greatly  served  to  mellow  and  consolidate  his  reputation,  and 
his  country  was  proud  to  claim  him.  Thus  (though  Mal- 
travers would  not  have  believed  it  had  an  angel  told  him)  he 
was  not  spoken  ill  of  behind  his  back:  a  thousand  little  anec- 
dotes of  his  personal  habits,  of  his  generosity,  independence 
of  spirit,  and  eccentricity  were  told.     Evelyn  listened  in  rapt 


78  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

delight  to  all ;  she  had  never  passed  so  pleasant  an  evening; 
and  she  smiled  almost  gratefully  on  the  rector,  who  was  a  man 
that  always  followed  the  stream,  when  he  said  with  benign 
affability,  "  We  must  really  show  our  distinguished  neighbour 
every  attention,  —  we  must  be  indulgent  to  his  little  oddities. 
His  politics  are  not  mine,  to  be  sure;  but  a  man  who  has 
a  stake  in  the  country  has  a  right  to  his  own  opinion,  that 
was  always  my  maxim,  — thank  Heaven,  I  am  a  very  moder- 
ate man.  We  must  draw  him  amongst  us ;  it  will  be  our  own 
fault,  I  am  sure,  if  he  is  not  quite  domesticated  at  the 
rectory." 

"  With  such  attraction,  — yes,"  said  the  thin  curate,  timidly 
bowing  to  the  ladies. 

"It  would  be  a  nice  match  for  Miss  Caroline,"  whispered 
an  old  lady;  Caroline  overheard,  and  pouted  her  pretty  lip. 

The  whist-tables  were  now  set  out,  the  music  began,  and 
Maltravers  was  left  in  peace. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Merton  rode  his  pony  over  to  Burleigh. 
Maltravers  was  not  at  home.  He  left  his  card,  and  a  note  of 
friendly  respect,  begging  Mr.  Maltravers  to  waive  ceremony, 
and  dine  with  them  the  next  day.  Somewhat  to  the  surprise 
of  the  rector,  he  found  that  the  active  spirit  of  Maltravers 
was  already  at  work.  The  long-deserted  grounds  were  filled 
with  labourers;  the  carpenters  were  busy  at  the  fences;  the 
house  looked  alive  and  stirring;  the  grooms  were  exercising 
the  horses  in  the  park,  —  all  betokened  the  return  of  the 
absentee.  This  seemed  to  denote  that  Maltravers  had  come 
to  reside ;  and  the  rector  thought  of  Caroline,  and  was  pleased 
at  the  notion. 

The  next  day  was  Cecilia's  birthday,  —  and  birthdays  were 
kept  at  Merton  Rectory;  the  neighbouring  children  were 
invited.  They  were  to  dine  on  the  lawn,  in  a  large  marquee, 
and  to  dance  in  the  evening.  The  hothouses  yielded  their 
early  strawberries,  and  the  cows,  decorated  with  blue  ribbons, 
were  to  give  syllabubs.  The  polite  Caroline  was  not  greatly 
fascinated  by  pleasure  of  this  kind;  she  graciously  appeared 
at  dinner,  kissed  the  prettiest  of  the  children,  helped  them  to 
soup,  and  then,  having  done  her  duty,  retired  to  her  room 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  79 

to  write  letters.  The  children  were  not  sorry,  for  they  were 
a  little  afraid  of  the  grand  Caroline ;  and  they  laughed  much 
more  loudly,  and  made  much  more  noise,  w;hen  she  was  gone 

—  and  the  cake  and  strawberries  appeared. 

Evelyn  was  in  her  element;  she  had,  as  a  child,  mixed  so 
little  with  children,  she  had  so  often  yearned  for  playmates, 
she  was  still  so  childlike.  Besides,  she  was  so  fond  of  Cecilia, 
she  had  looked  forward  with  innocent  delight  to  the  day;  and 
a  week  before  had  taken  the  carriage  to  the  neighbouring  town 
to  return  with  a  carefully  concealed  basket  of  toys,  — dolls, 
sashes,  and  picture-books.  But  somehow  or  other,  she  did 
not  feel  so  childlike  as  usual  that  morning;  her  heart  was 
away  from  the  pleasure  before  her,  and  her  smile  was  at  first 
languid.  But  in  children's  mirth  there  is  something  so  con- 
tagious to  those  who  love  children;  and  now,  as  the  party 
scattered  themselves  on  the  grass,  and  Evelyn  opened  the 
basket,  and  bade  them  with  much  gravity  keep  quiet,  and  be 
good  children,  she  was  the  happiest  of  the  whole  group.  But 
she  knew  how  to  give  pleasure :  and  the  basket  was  presented 
to  Cecilia,  that  the  little  queen  of  the  day  might  enjoy  the 
luxury  of  being  generous ;  and  to  prevent  jealousy,  the  notable 
expedient  of  a  lottery  was  suggested. 

" Then  Evy  shall  be  Fortune !  "  cried  Cecilia;  "nobody  will 
be  sorry  to  get  anything  from  Evy,  —  and  if  any  one  is  dis- 
contented Evy  sha'n't  kiss  her." 

Mrs.  Merton,  whose  motherly  heart  was  completely  won  by 
Evelyn's  kindness  to  the  children,  forgot  all  her  husband's 
lectures,  and  willingly  ticketed  the  prizes,  and  wrote  the 
numbers  of  the  lots  on  slips  of  paper  carefully  folded.  A 
large  old  Indian  jar  was  dragged  from  the  drawing-room  and 
constituted  the  fated  urn;  the  tickets  were  deposited  therein, 
and  Cecilia  was  tying  the  handkerchief  round  Evelyn's  eyes, 

—  while  Fortune  struggled  archly  not  to  be  as  blind  as  she 
ought  to  be,  —  and  the  children,  seated  in  a  circle,  were  in 
full  joy  and  expectation  when  there  was  a  sudden  pause.  The 
laughter  stopped;  so  did  Cissy's  little  hands.  What  could  it 
be?  Evelyn  slipped  the  bandage,  and  her  eyes  rested  on 
Maltravers ! 


80  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Well,  really,  my  dear  Miss  Cameron,"  said  the  rector, 
who  was  by  the  side  of  the  intruder,  and  who,  indeed,  had 
just  brought  him  to  the  spot,  "  I  don't  know  what  these  little 
folks  will  do  to  you  next." 

"  I  ought  rather  to  be  their  victim, "  said  Maltravers,  good- 
humouredly;  "the  fairies  always  punish  us  grown-up  mortals 
for  trespassing  on  their  revels." 

While  he  spoke,  his  eyes  —  those  eyes,  the  most  eloquent  in 
the  world  —  dwelt  on  Evelyn  (as,  to  cover  her  blushes,  she 
took  Cecilia  in  her  arms,  and  appeared  to  attend  to  nothing 
else)  with  a  look  of  such  admiration  and  delight  as  a  mortal 
might  well  be  supposed  to  cast  on  some  beautiful  fairy. 

Sophy,  a  very  bold  child,  ran  up  to  him.  "How  do,  sir?" 
she  lisped,  putting  up  her  face  to  be  kissed;  "how's  the 
pretty  peacock?" 

This  opportune  audacity  served  at  once  to  renew  the  charm 
that  had  been  broken,  —  to  unite  the  stranger  with  the  chil- 
dren. Here  was  acquaintance  claimed  and  allowed  in  an 
instant.  The  next  moment  Maltravers  was  one  of  the  circle, 
on  the  turf  with  the  rest,  as  gay,  and  almost  as  noisy,  —  that 
hard,  proud  man,  so  disdainful  of  the  trifles  of  the  world ! 

"But  the  gentleman  must  have  a  prize,  too,"  said  Sophy, 
proud  of  her  tall  new  friend.  "What's  your  other  name; 
why  do  you  have  such  a  long,  hard  name?  " 

"Call  me  Ernest,"  said  Maltravers. 

"  Why  don't  we  begin?  "  cried  the  children. 

"Evy,  come,  be  a  good  child,  miss,"  said  Sophy,  as  Evelyn, 
vexed  and  ashamed,  and  half  ready  to  cry,  resisted  the 
bandage. 

Mr.  Merton  interposed  his  authority;  but  the  children 
clamoured,  and  Evelyn  hastily  yielded.  It  was  Fortune's 
duty  to  draw  the  tickets  from  the  urn,  and  give  them  to  each 
claimant  whose  name  was  called ;  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of 
Maltravers,  the  bandage  did  not  conceal  the  blush  and  smile 
of  the  enchanting  goddess,  and  the  hand  of  the  aspirant 
thrilled  as  it  touched  hers. 

The  children  burst  into  screams  of  laughter  when  Cecilia 
gravely  awarded  to  Maltravers  the  worst  prize  in  the  lot,  —  a 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  81 

blue  ribbon,  — which  Sophy,  however,  greedily  insisted  on 
having;  but  Maltravers  would  not  yield  it. 

Maltravers  remained  all  day  at  the  rectory,  and  shared  in 
the  ball,  —  yes,  he  danced  with  Evelyn  —  he,  Maltravers,  who 
had  never  been  known  to  dance  since  he  was  twenty -two! 
The  ice  was  fairly  broken,  —  Maltravers  was  at  home  with 
the  Mertons.  And  when  he  took  his  solitary  walk  to  his  soli- 
tary house  —  over  the  little  bridge,  and  through  the  shadowy 
wood  —  astonished,  perhaps,  with  himself,  every  one  of  the 
guests,  from  the  oldest  to  the  youngest,  pronounced  him 
delightful.  Caroline,  perhaps,  might  have  been  piqued  some 
months  ago  that  he  did  not  dance  with  her ;  but  now,  her 
heart  —  such  as  it  was  —  felt  preoccupied. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

L'esprit  de  I'homme  est  plus  penetrant  que  consequent,  et  embrasse  plus 
qu'il  ne  peut  lier.'  —  Vauvenargues. 

And  now  Maltravers  was  constantly  with  the  Merton  family; 
there  was  no  need  of  excuse  for  familiarity  on  his  part.  Mr. 
Merton,  charmed  to  find  his  advances  not  rejected,  thrust  inti- 
macy upon  him. 

One  day  they  spent  the  afternoon  at  Burleigh,  and  Evelyn 
and  Caroline  finished  their  survey  of  the  house,  —  tapestry, 
and  armour,  pictures  and  all.  This  led  to  a  visit  to  the 
Arabian  horses.  Caroline  observed  that  she  was  very  fond 
of  riding,  and  went  into  ecstasies  with  one  of  the  animals,  — 
the  one,  of  course,  with  the  longest  tail.  The  next  day  the 
horse  was  in  the  stables  at  the  rectory,  and  a  gallant  epistle 
apologized  for  the  costly  gift. 

Mr.  Merton  demurred,  but  Caroline  always  had  her  own 
way;  and  so  the  horse  remained  (no  doubt,  in  much  amaze- 

1  "The  spirit  of  man  is  more  penetrating  than  logical,  and  gathers  more 
than  it  can  gamer." 

6 


82  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

ment  and  disdain)  with  tlie  parson's  pony,  and  the  brown 
carriage  horses.  The  gift  naturally  conduced  to  parties  on 
horseback  —  it  was  cruel  entirely  to  separate  the  Arab  from 
his  friends  —  and  how  was  Evelyn  to  be  left  behind?  — 
Evelyn,  who  had  never  yet  ridden  anything  more  spirited 
than  an  old  pony !  A  beautiful  little  horse  belonging  to  an 
elderly  lady,  now  growing  too  stout  to  ride,  was  to  be  sold 
hard  by.  Maltravers  discovered  the  treasure,  and  apprised 
Mr.  Merton  of  it  —  he  was  too  delicate  to  affect  liberality  to 
the  rich  heiress.  The  horse  was  bought;  nothing  could  go 
quieter;  Evelyn  was  not  at  all  afraid.  They  made  two  or 
three  little  excursions.  Sometimes  only  Mr.  Merton  and 
Maltravers  accompanied  the  young  ladies,  sometimes  the 
party  was  more  numerous.  Maltravers  appeared  to  pay 
equal  attention  to  Caroline  and  her  friend;  still  Evelyn's 
inexperience  in  equestrian  matters  was  an  excuse  for  his 
being  ever  by  her  side.  They  had  a  thousand  opportunities 
to  converse;  and  Evelyn  now  felt  more  at  home  with  him; 
her  gentle  gayety,  her  fanciful  yet  chastened  intellect,  found 
a  voice.  Maltravers  was  not  slow  to  discover  that  beneath 
her  simplicity  there  lurked  sense,  judgment,  and  imagina- 
tion. Insensibly  his  own  conversation  took  a  higher  flight. 
With  the  freedom  which  his  mature  years  and  reputation 
gave  him,  he  mingled  eloquent  instruction  with  lighter  and 
more  trifling  subjects;  he  directed  her  earnest  and  docile 
mind,  not  only  to  new  fields  of  written  knowledge,  but  to 
many  of  the  secrets  of  Nature,  subtle  or  sublime.  He  had  a 
wide  range  of  scientific  as  well  as  literary  lore;  the  stars,  the 
flowers,  the  phenomena  of  the  physical  world,  afforded  themes 
on  which  he  descanted  with  the  fervent  love  of  a  poet  and  the 
easy  knowledge  of  a  sage. 

Mr.  Merton,  observing  that  little  or  nothing  of  sentiment 
mingled  with  their  familiar  intercourse,  felt  perfectly  at  ease; 
and  knowing  that  Maltravers  had  been  intimate  with  Lumley, 
he  naturally  concluded  that  he  was  aware  of  the  engagement 
between  Evelyn  and  his  friend.  Meanwhile  Maltravers  ap- 
peared unconscious  that  such  a  being  as  Lord  Vargrave 
existed. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  83 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  daily  presence,  the 
delicate  flattery  of  attention  from  a  man  like  Maltravers, 
should  strongly  impress  the  imagination,  if  not  the  heart,  of 
a  susceptible  girl.  Already  prepossessed  in  his  favour,  and 
wholly  unaccustomed  to  a  society  which  combined  so  many 
attractions,  Evelyn  regarded  him  with  unspeakable  venera- 
tion ;  to  the  darker  shades  in  his  character  she  was  blind,  — 
to  her,  indeed,  they  did  not  appear.  True  that  once  or  twice 
in  mixed  society  his  disdainful  and  imperious  temper  broke 
hastily  and  harshly  forth.  To  folly,  to  pretension,  to  pre- 
sumption, he  showed  but  slight  forbearance.  The  impatient 
smile,  the  biting  sarcasm,  the  cold  repulse,  that  might  gall, 
yet  could  scarce  be  openly  resented,  betrayed  that  he  was  one 
who  affected  to  free  himself  from  the  polished  restraints  of 
social  intercourse.  He  had  once  been  too  scrupulous  in  not 
wounding  vanity;  he  was  now  too  indifferent  to  it.  But  if 
sometimes  this  unamiable  trait  of  character,  as  displayed  to 
others,  chilled  or  startled  Evelyn,  the  contrast  of  his  manner 
towards  herself  was  a  flattery  too  delicious  not  to  efface  all 
other  recollections.  To  her  ear  his  voice  always  softened  its 
tone;  to  her  capacity  of  mind  ever  bent  as  by  sympathy,  not 
condescension;  to  her  —  the  young,  the  timid,  the  half- 
informed  —  to  her  alone  he  did  not  disdain  to  exhibit  all 
the  stores  of  his  knowledge,  all  the  best  and  brightest  colours 
of  his  mind.  She  modestly  wondered  at  so  strange  a  prefer- 
ence. Perhaps  a  sudden  and  blunt  compliment  which  Mal- 
travers once  addressed  to  her  may  explain  it.  One  day,  when 
she  had  conversed  more  freely  and  more  fully  than  usual,  he 
broke  in  upon  her  with  this  abrupt  exclamation,  — 

"  Miss  Cameron,  you  must  have  associated  from  your  child- 
hood with  beautiful  minds.  I  see  already  that  from  the 
world,  vile  as  it  is,  you  have  nothing  of  contagion  to  fear. 
I  have  heard  you  talk  on  the  most  various  matters,  on  many 
of  which  your  knowledge  is  imperfect;  but  you  have  never 
uttered  one  mean  idea,  or  one  false  sentiment.  Truth  seems 
intuitive  to  you." 

It  was  indeed  this  singular  purity  of  heart  which  made  to 
the  world-wearied  man  the  chief  charm  in  Evelyn  Cameron, 


84  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

From  this  purity  came,  as  from  the  heart  of  a  poet,  a  thou- 
sand new  and  heaven-taught  thoughts  which  had  in  them  a 
wisdom  of  their  own,  —  thoughts  that  often  brought  the  stern 
listener  back  to  youth,  and  reconciled  him  with  life.  The 
wise  Maltravers  learned  more  from  Evelyn  than  Evelyn  did 
from  Maltravers. 

There  was,  however,  another  trait  —  deeper  than  that  of 
temper  —  in  Maltravers,  and  which  was,  unlike  the  latter, 
more  manifest  to  her  than  to  others,  —  his  contempt  for  all 
the  things  her  young  and  fresh  enthusiasm  had  been  taught 
to  prize,  the  fame  that  endeared  and  hallowed  him  to  her 
eyes,  the  excitement  of  ambition,  and  its  rewards.  He  spoke 
with  such  bitter  disdain  of  great  names  and  great  deeds. 
"Children  of  a  larger  growth  they  were,"  said  he,  one  day, 
in  answer  to  her  defence  of  the  luminaries  of  their  kind, 
"allured  by  baubles  as  poor  as  the  rattle  and  the  doll's  house. 
How  many  have  been  made  great,  as  the  word  is,  by  their 
vices !  Paltry  craft  won  command  to  Themistocles ;  to  escape 
his  duns,  the  profligate  Caesar  heads  an  army,  and  achieves  his 
laurels;  Brutus,  the  aristocrat,  stabs  his  patron,  that  patri- 
cians might  again  trample  on  plebeians,  and  that  posterity 
might  talk  of  him.  The  love  of  posthumous  fame  —  what  is 
it  but  as  puerile  a  passion  for  notoriety  as  that  which  made  a 
Frenchman  I  once  knew  lay  out  two  thousand  pounds  in 
sugar-plums?  To  be  talked  of  —  how  poor  a  desire!  Does 
it  matter  whether  it  be  by  the  gossips  of  this  age  or  the 
next?  Some  men  are  urged  on  to  fame  by  poverty  —  that  is 
an  excuse  for  their  trouble ;  but  there  is  no  more  nobleness  in 
the  motive  than  in  that  which  makes  yon  poor  ploughman 
sweat  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus.  In  fact,  the  larger  part  of  emi- 
nent men,  instead  of  being  inspired  by  any  lofty  desire  to 
benefit  their  species  or  enrich  the  human  mind,  have  acted  or 
composed,  without  any  definite  object  beyond  the  satisfying  a 
restless  appetite  for  excitement,  or  indulging  the  dreams  of 
a  selfish  glory.  And  when  nobler  aspirations  have  fired  them, 
it  has  too  often  been  but  to  wild  fanaticism  and  sanguinary 
crime.  What  dupes  of  glory  ever  were  animated  by  a  deeper 
faith,    a   higher    ambition,    than    the    frantic    followers    of 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  86 

Mahomet,  — taught  to  believe  that  it  was  virtue  to  ravage 
the  earth,  and  that  they  sprang  from  the  battle-field  into 
Paradise?  Religion  and  liberty,  love  of  country,  what  splen- 
did motives  to  action !  Lo,  the  results,  when  the  motives  are 
keen,  the  action  once  commenced!  Behold  the  Inquisition, 
the  Days  of  Terror,  the  Council  of  Ten,  and  the  Dungeons  of 
Venice ! " 

Evelyn  was  scarcely  fit  to  wrestle  with  these  melancholy 
fallacies ;  but  her  instinct  of  truth  suggested  an  answer. 

"  What  would  society  be  if  all  men  thought  as  you  do,  and 
acted  up  to  the  theory?  No  literature,  no  art,  no  glory,  no 
patriotism,  no  virtue,  no  civilization!  You  analyze  men's 
motives  —  how  can  you  be  sure  you  judge  rightly?  Look  to 
the  results,  — our  benefit,  our  enlightenment!  If  the  results 
be  great,  ^mbition  is  a  virtue,  no  matter  what  motive  awak- 
ened it.     Is  it  not  so?  " 

Evelyn  spoke  blushingly  and  timidly.  Maltravers,  despite 
his  own  tenets,  was  delighted  with  her  reply. 

"  You  reason  well, "  said  he,  with  a  smile.  "  But  how  are 
we  sure  that  the  results  are  such  as  you  depict  them?  Civili- 
zation, enlightenment,  —  they  are  vague  terms,  hollow  sounds. 
Never  fear  that  the  world  will  reason  as  I  do.  Action  will 
never  be  stagnant  while  there  are  such  things  as  gold  and 
power.  The  vessel  will  move  on  —  let  the  galley-slaves  have 
it  to  themselves.  What  I  have  seen  of  life  convinces  me  that 
progress  is  not  always  improvement.  Civilization  has  evils 
unknown  to  the  savage  state;  and  vice  versa.  Men  in  all 
states  seem  to  have  much  the  same  proportion  of  happiness. 
We  judge  others  with  eyes  accustomed  to  dwell  on  our  own 
circumstances.  I  have  seen  the  slave,  whom  we  commiserate, 
enjoy  his  holiday  with  a  rapture  unknown  to  the  grave  free- 
man. I  have  seen  that  slave  made  free,  and  enriched  by  the 
benevolence  of  his  master;  and  he  has  been  gay  no  more. 
The  masses  of  men  in  all  countries  are  much  the  same.  If 
there  are  greater  comforts  in  the  hardy  North,  Providence 
bestows  a  fertile  earth  and  a  glorious  heaven,  and  a  mind  sus- 
ceptible to  enjoyment  as  flowers  to  light,  on  the  voluptu- 
ous indulgence  of  the  Italian,  or  the  contented  apathy  of  the 


86  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Hindoo.  In  the  mighty  organization  of  good  and  evil,  what 
can  we  vain  individuals  effect?  They  who  labour  most,  how 
doubtful  is  their  reputation !  Who  shall  say  whether  Voltaire 
or  Napoleon,  Cromwell  or  Caesar,  Walpole  or  Pitt,  has  done 
most  good  or  most  evil?  It  is  a  question  casuists  may  dispute 
on.  Some  of  us  think  that  poets  have  been  the  delight  and 
the  lights  of  men;  another  school  of  philosophy  has  treated 
them  as  the  corrupters  of  the  species,  —  panderers  to  the  false 
glory  of  war,  to  the  effeminacies  of  taste,  to  the  pampering  of 
the  passions  above  the  reason.  Nay,  even  those  who  have 
effected  inventions  that  change  the  face  of  the  earth  —  the 
printing-press,  gunpowder,  the  steam-engine,  —  men  hailed 
as  benefactors  by  the  unthinking  herd,  or  the  would-be  sages, 
—  have  introduced  ills  unknown  before,  adulterating  and  often 
counterbalancing  the  good.  Each  new  improvement  in  ma- 
chinery deprives  hundreds  of  food.  Civilization  is  the  eternal 
sacrifice  of  one  generation  to  the  next.  An  awful  sense  of  the 
impotence  of  human  agencies  has  crushed  down  the  sublime 
aspirations  for  mankind  which  I  once  indulged.  For  myself, 
I  float  on  the  great  waters,  without  pilot  or  rudder,  and  trust 
passively  to  the  winds,  that  are  the  breath  of  God." 

This  conversation  left  a  deep  impression  upon  Evelyn;  it 
inspired  her  with  a  new  interest  in  one  in  whom  so  many 
noble  qualities  lay  dulled  and  torpid,  by  the  indulgence  of  a 
self-sophistry,  which,  girl  as  she  was,  she  felt  wholly  un- 
worthy of  his  powers.  And  it  was  this  error  in  Maltravers 
that,  levelling  his  superiority,  brought  him  nearer  to  her 
heart.  Ah,  if  she  could  restore  him  to  his  race!  It  was  a 
dangerous  desire,  but  it  intoxicated  and  absorbed  her. 

Oh,  how  sweetly  were  those  fair  evenings  spent, — the 
evenings  of  happy  June !  And  then,  as  Maltravers  suffered 
the  children  to  tease  him  into  talk  about  the  wonders  he  had 
seen  in  the  regions  far  away,  how  did  the  soft  and  social  hues 
of  his  character  unfold  themselves !  There  is  in  all  real  genius 
so  much  latent  playfulness  of  nature  it  almost  seems  as  if 
genius  never  could  grow  old.  The  inscriptions  that  youth 
writes  upon  the  tablets  of  an  imaginative  mind  are,  indeed, 
never  wholly  obliterated,  —  they  are  as  an  invisible  writing. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  87 

which  gradually  becomes  clear  in  the  light  and  warmth. 
Bring  genius  familiarly  with  the  young,  and  it  is  as  young 
as  they  are.  Evelyn  did  not  yet,  therefore,  observe  the  dis- 
parity of  years  between  herself  and  Maltravers.  But  the 
disparity  of  knowledge  and  power  served  for  the  present  to 
interdict  to  her  that  sweet  feeling  of  equality  in  commune, 
without  which  love  is  rarely  a  very  intense  affection  in 
women.  It  is  not  so  with  men.  But  by  degrees  she  grew 
more  and  more  familiar  with  her  stern  friend;  and  in  that 
familiarity  there  was  perilous  fascination  to  Maltravers.  She 
could  laugh  him  at  any  moment  out  of  his  most  moody  rev- 
eries ;  contradict  with  a  pretty  wilfulness  his  most  favourite 
dogmas ;  nay,  even  scold  him,  with  bewitching  gravity,  if  he 
was  not  always  at  the  command  of  her  wishes  —  or  caprice. 
At  this  time  it  seemed  certain  that  Maltravers  would  fall  in 
love  with  Evelyn;  but  it  rested  on  more  doubtful  probabilities 
whether  Evelyn  would  fall  in  love  with  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CoNTRAHB  vela, 
Et  te  littoribus  cymba  propinqua  veliat.^  —  Seneca. 

"Has  not  Miss  Cameron  a  beautiful  countenance?"  said 
Mr.  Merton  to  Maltravers,  as  Evelyn,  unconscious  of  the 
compliment,  sat  at  a  little  distance,  bending  down  her  eyes 
to  Sophy,  who  was  weaving  daisy-chains  on  a  stool  at  her 
knee,  and  whom  she  was  telling  not  to  talk  loud,  —  for  Merton 
had  been  giving  Maltravers  some  useful  information  respect- 
ing the  management  of  his  estate;  and  Evelyn  was  already 
interested  in  all  that  could  interest  her  friend.  She  had  one 
excellent  thing  in  woman,  had  Evelyn  Cameron :  despite  her 
sunny  cheerfulness  of  temper  she  was  quiet ;  and  she  had 
1  "  Furl  your  sails,  and  let  the  next  boat  carry  you  to  the  shore." 


88  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

insensibly  acquired,  under  the  roof  of  her  musing  and  silent 
mother,  the  habit  of  never  disturbing  others.  What  a  blessed 
secret  is  that  in  the  intercourse  of  domestic  life ! 

"Has  not  Miss  Cameron  a  beautiful  countenance?  " 

Maltravers  started  at  the  question,  —  it  was  a  literal  trans- 
lation of  his  own  thought  at  that  moment.  He  checked  the 
enthusiasm  that  rose  to  his  lip,  and  calmly  re-echoed  the 
word,  — 

"Beautiful  indeed! " 

"And  so  sweet-tempered  and  unaffected;  she  has  been 
admirably  brought  up.  I  believe  Lady  Vargrave  is  a  most 
exemplary  woman.  Miss  Cameron  will,  indeed,  be  a  treasure 
to  her  betrothed  husband.     He  is  to  be  envied." 

"Her  betrothed  husband!"  said  Maltravers,  turning  very 
pale. 

"Yes;  Lord  Vargrave.  Did  you  not  know  that  she  was 
engaged  to  him  from  her  childhood?  It  was  the  wish,  nay, 
command,  of  the  late  lord,  who  bequeathed  her  his  vast  for- 
tune, if  not  on  that  condition,  at  least  on  that  understanding. 
Did  you  never  hear  of  this  before?" 

While  Mr.  Merton  spoke,  a  sudden  recollection  returned  to 
Maltravers.  He  had  heard  Lumley  himself  refer  to  the 
engagement,  but  it  had  been  in  the  sick  chamber  of  Flor- 
ence, —  little  heeded  at  the  time,  and  swept  from  his  mind 
by  a  thousand  after-thoughts  and  scenes.  Mr.  Merton 
continued,  — 

"We  expect  Lord  Vargrave  down  soon.  He  is  an  ardent 
lover,  I  conclude;  but  public  life  chains  him  so  much  to  Lon- 
don. He  made  an  admirable  speech  in  the  Lords  last  night; 
at  least,  our  party  appear  to  think  so.  They  are  to  be  mar- 
ried when  Miss  Cameron  attains  the  age  of  eighteen." 

Accustomed  to  endurance,  and  skilled  in  the  proud  art  of 
concealing  emotion,  Maltravers  betrayed  to  the  eye  of  Mr. 
Merton  no  symptom  of  surprise  or  dismay  at  this  intelligence. 
If  the  rector  had  conceived  any  previous  suspicion  that  Mal- 
travers was  touched  beyond  mere  admiration  for  beauty,  the 
suspicion  would  have  vanished  as  he  heard  his  guest  coldly 
reply,  — 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  89 

"I  trust  Lord  Vargrave  may  deserve  his  happiness.  But, 
to  return  to  Mr,  Justis ;  you  corroborate  my  own  opinion  of 
that  smooth-spoken  gentleman." 

The  conversation  flowed  back  to  business.  At  last,  Mal- 
travers  rose  to  depart. 

"Will  you  not  dine  with  us  to-day?"  said  the  hospitable 
rector. 

"  Many  thanks,  —  no ;  I  have  much  business  to  attend  to  at 
home  for  some  days  to  come." 

"  Kiss  Sophy,  Mr.  Ernest,  —  Sophy  very  good  girl  to-day. 
Let  the  pretty  butterfly  go,  because  Evy  said  it  was  cruel  to 
put  it  in  a  card-box;  kiss  Sophy." 

Maltravers  took  the  child  (whose  heart  he  had  completely 
won)  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  tenderly;  then  advancing  to 
Evelyn,  he  held  out  his  hand,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her  with  an  expression  of  deep  and  mournful  interest,  which 
she  could  not  understand. 

"God  bless  you,  Miss  Cameron,"  he  said,  and  his  lip 
quivered. 

Days  passed,  and  they  saw  no  more  of  Maltravers.  He 
excused  himself  on  pretence,  now  of  business,  now  of  other 
engagements,  from  all  the  invitations  of  the  rector.  Mr. 
Merton  unsuspectingly  accepted  the  excuse;  for  he  knew 
that  Maltravers  was  necessarily  much  occupied. 

His  arrival  had  now  spread  throughout  the  country;  and 

such  of  his  equals  as  were  still  in  B shire  hastened  to  offer 

congratulations,  and  press  hospitality.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
desire  to  make  his  excuses  to  Merton  valid  which  prompted 
the  master  of  Burleigh  to  yield  to  the  other  invitations  that 
crowded  on  him.  But  this  was  not  all,  —  Maltravers  acquired 
in  the  neighbourhood  the  reputation  of  a  man  of  business. 
Mr.  Justis  was  abruptly  dismissed;  with  the  help  of  the  bailiff 
Maltravers  became  his  own  steward.  His  parting  address  to 
this  personage  was  characteristic  of  the  mingled  harshness 
and  justice  of  Maltravers. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  as  they  closed  their  accounts,  "I  discharge 
you  because  you  are  a  rascal,  —  there  can  be  no  dispute  about 
that;  you  have  plundered  your  owner,  yet  you  have  ground 


90  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

liis  tenants,  and  neglected  the  poor.  My  villages  are  filled 
with  paupers,  my  rent-roll  is  reduced  a  fourth ;  and  yet,  while 
some  of  my  tenants  appear  to  pay  nominal  rents  (why,  you 
best  know),  others  are  screwed  up  higher  than  any  man's  in 
the  country.  You  are  a  rogue,  Mr.  Justis,  —  your  own 
account-books  show  it;  and  if  I  send  them  to  a  lawyer,  you 
would  have  to  refund  a  sum  that  I  could  apply  very  advan- 
tageously to  the  rectification  of  your  blunders." 

"I  hope,  sir,"  said  the  steward,  conscience-stricken  and 
appalled,  —  "I  hope  you  will  not  ruin  me ;  indeed,  indeed,  if 
I  was  called  upon  to  refund,  I  should  go  to  jail." 

"  Make  yourself  easy,  sir.  It  is  just  that  I  should  suffer  as 
well  as  you.  My  neglect  of  my  own  duties  tempted  you  to 
roguery.  You  were  honest  under  the  vigilant  eye  of  Mr. 
Cleveland.  Retire  with  your  gains :  if  you  are  quite  hard- 
ened, no  punishment  can  touch  you;  if  you  are  not,  it  is  pun- 
ishment enough  to  stand  there  gray-headed,  with  one  foot  in 
the  grave,  and  hear  yourself  called  a  rogue,  and  know  that 
you  cannot  defend  yourself,  —  go !  " 

Maltravers  next  occupied  himself  in  all  the  affairs  that  a 
mismanaged  estate  brought  upon  him.  He  got  rid  of  some 
tenants,  he  made  new  arrangements  with  others;  he  called 
labour  into  requisition  by  a  variety  of  improvements ;  he  paid 
minute  attention  to  the  poor,  not  in  the  weakness  of  careless 
and  indiscriminate  charity,  by  which  popularity  is  so  cheaply 
purchased,  and  independence  so  easily  degraded,  —  no,  his  main 
care  was  to  stimulate  industry  and  raise  hope.  The  ambition 
and  emulation  that  he  so  vainly  denied  in  himself,  he  found 
his  most  useful  levers  in  the  humble  labourers  whose  charac- 
ters he  had  studied,  whose  condition  he  sought  to  make  them- 
selves desire  to  elevate.  Unconsciously  his  whole  practice 
began  to  refute  his  theories.  The  abuses  of  the  old  Poor- 
La  ws  were  rife  in  his  neighbourhood;  his  quick  penetration, 
and  perhaps  his  imperious  habits  of  decision,  suggested  to 
him  many  of  the  best  provisions  of  the  law  now  called  into 
operation;  but  he  was  too  wise  to  be  the  Philosopher  Square 
of  a  system.  He  did  not  attempt  too  much;  and  he  recog- 
nized one  principle,  which,  as  yet,  the  administrators  of  the 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  91 

new  Poor-Laws  have  not  sufficiently  discovered.  One  main 
object  of  the  new  code  was,  by  curbing  public  charity,  to  task 
the  activity  of  individual  benevolence.  If  the  proprietor  or 
the  clergyman  find  under  his  own  eye  isolated  instances  of 
severity,  oppression,  or  hardship  in  a  general  and  salutary 
law,  instead  of  railing  against  the  law,  he  ought  to  attend  to 
the  individual  instances;  and  private  benevolence  ought  to 
keep  the  balance  of  the  scales  even,  and  be  the  makeweight 
wherever  there  is  a  just  deficiency  of  national  charity.^  It 
was  this  which,  in  the  modified  and  discreet  regulations  that 
he  sought  to  establish  on  his  estates,  Maltravers  especially 
and  pointedly  attended  to.  Age,  infirmity,  temporary  dis- 
tress, unmerited  destitution,  found  him  a  steady,  watchful, 
indefatigable  friend.  In  these  labours,  commenced  with 
extraordinary  promptitude,  and  the  energy  of  a  single  pur- 
pose and  stern  mind,  Maltravers  was  necessarily  brought  into 
contact  with  the  neighbouring  magistrates  and  gentry.  He 
was  combating  evils  and  advancing  objects  in  which  all  were 
interested;  and  his  vigorous  sense,  and  his  past  parliamen- 
tary reputation,  joined  with  the  respect  which  in  provinces 
always  attaches  to  ancient  birth,  won  unexpected  and  general 
favour  to  his  views.  At  the  rectory  they  heard  of  him  con- 
stantly, not  only  through  occasional  visitors,  but  through  Mr. 
Merton,  who  was  ever  thrown  in  his  way;  but  he  continued 
to  keep  himself  aloof  from  the  house.  Every  one  (Mr.  Mer- 
ton excepted)  missed  him,  — even  Caroline,  whose  able  though 
worldly  mind  could  apprecia,te  his  conversation;  the  children 
mourned  for  their  playmate,  who  was  so  much  more  affable 
than  their  own  stiff -neckclothed  brothers ;  and  Evelyn  was  at 
least  more  serious  and  thoughtful  than  she  had  ever  been 
before,  and  the  talk  of  others  seemed  to  her  wearisome,  trite, 
and  dull. 
Was  Maltravers  happy  in  his  new  pursuits?    His  state  of 

1  The  object  of  parochial  reform  is  not  that  of  economy  alone ;  not  merely 
to  reduce  poor-rates.  The  ratepayer  ought  to  remember  that  the  more  he 
wrests  from  the  gripe  of  the  sturdy  mendicant,  the  more  he  ought  to  bestow 
on  undeserved  distress.  Without  the  mitigations  of  private  virtue,  every  law 
that  benevolists  could  make  would  be  harsh. 


92  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

mind  at  that  time  it  is  not  easy  to  read.  His  masculine  spirit 
and  haughty  temper  were  wrestling  hard  against  a  feeling  that 
had  been  fast  ripening  into  passion;  but  at  night,  in  his  soli- 
tary and  cheerless  home,  a  vision,  too  exquisite  to  indulge, 
would  force  itself  upon  him,  till  he  started  from  the  revery, 
and  said  to  his  rebellious  heart :  "  A  few  more  years,  and  thou 
wilt  be  still.  What  in  this  brief  life  is  a  pang  more  or  less? 
Better  to  have  nothing  to  care  for,  so  wilt  thou  defraud  Fate, 
thy  deceitful  foe !     Be  contented  that  thou  art  alone !  " 

Fortunate  was  it,  then,  for  Maltravers,  that  he  was  in  his 
native  land,  not  in  climes  where  excitement  is  in  the  pursuit 
of  pleasure  rather  than  in  the  exercise  of  duties.  In  the  hardy 
air  of  the  liberal  England,  he  was  already,  though  unknown 
to  himself,  bracing  and  ennobling  his  dispositions  and  desires. 
It  is  the  boast  of  this  island  that  the  slave  whose  foot  touches 
the  soil  is  free.  The  boast  may  be  enlarged.  Where  so  much 
is  left  to  the  people,  where  the  life  of  civilization,  not  locked 
up  in  the  tyranny  of  Central  Despotism,  spreads,  vivifying, 
restless,  ardent,  through  every  vein  of  the  healthful  body,  the 
most  distant  province,  the  obscurest  village,  has  claims  on 
our  exertions,  our  duties,  and  forces  us  into  energy  and  citi- 
zenship. The  spirit  of  liberty,  that  strikes  the  chain  from 
the  slave,  binds  the  freeman  to  his  brother.  This  is  the  Relig- 
ion of  Freedom.  And  hence  it  is  that  the  stormy  struggles  of 
free  States  have  been  blessed  with  results  of  Virtue,  of  Wis- 
dom, and  of  Genius  by  Him  who  bade  us  love  one  another,  — 
not  only  that  love  in  itself  is  excellent,  but  that  from  love, 
which  in  its  widest  sense  is  but  the  spiritual  term  for  liberty, 
whatever  is  worthiest  of  our  solemn  nature  has  its  birth. 


BOOK    in. 


Tpax^a  \fiodptt,  iraifi  Kopov. 

Ex.  Solon:  Eleg. 

**  Harsh  things  he  mitigates,  and  pride  subdaes.' 


CHAPTER   I. 

You  still  are  what  you  were,  sir ! 

.    .     .     With  most  quick  agility  could  turn 
And  return ;  make  knots  and  undo  them, 
Give  forked  counsel.  —  Volpone,  or  the  Fox. 

Before  a  large  table,  covered  with  parliamentary  papers, 
sat  Lumley  Lord  Vargrave.  His  complexion,  though  still 
healthy,  had  faded  from  the  freshness  of  hue  which  distin- 
guished him  in  youth.  His  features,  always  sharp,  had 
grown  yet  more  angular:  his  brows  seemed  to  project  more 
broodingly  over  his  eyes,  which,  though  of  undiminished 
brightness,  were  sunk  deep  in  their  sockets,  and  had  lost 
much  of  their  quick  restlessness.  The  character  of  his  mind 
had  begun  to  stamp  itself  on  the  physiognomy,  especially  on 
the  mouth  when  in  repose.  It  was  a  face  striking  for  acute 
intelligence,  for  concentrated  energy;  but  there  was  a  some- 
thing written  in  it  which  said,  "Bewark!"  It  would  have 
inspired  any  one  who  had  mixed  much  amongst  men  with  a 
vague  suspicion  and  distrust. 

Lumley  had  been  always  careful,  though  plain,  in  dress; 
but  there  was  now  a  more  evident  attention  bestowed  on  his 
person  than  he  had  ever  manifested  in  youth,  —  while  there 
was  something  of  the  Roman's  celebrated  foppery  in  the  skill 


94  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

with  whicli  his  hair  was  arranged  on  his  high  forehead,  so  as 
either  to  conceal  or  relieve  a  partial  baldness  at  the  temples. 
Perhaps,  too,  from  the  possession  of  high  station,  or  the  habit 
of  living  only  amongst  the  great,  there  was  a  certain  dignity 
insensibly  diffused  over  his  whole  person  that  was  not  notice- 
able in  his  earlier  years,  when  a  certain  ton  de  garnison  was 
blended  with  his  ease  of  manners.  Yet,  even  now,  dignity 
was  not  his  prevalent  characteristic;  and  in  ordinary  occa- 
sions, or  mixed  society,  he  still  found  a  familiar  frankness  a 
more  useful  species  of  simulation.  At  the  time  we  now  treat 
of.  Lord  Vargrave  was  leaning  his  cheek  on  one  hand,  while 
the  other  rested  idly  on  the  papers  methodically  arranged 
before  him.  He  appeared  to  have  suspended  his  labours,  and 
to  be  occupied  in  thought.  It  was,  in  truth,  a  critical  period 
in  the  career  of  Lord  Vargrave. 

From  the  date  of  his  accession  to  the  peerage,  the  rise  of 
Lumley  Ferrers  had  been  less  rapid  and  progressive  than  he 
himself  could  have  foreseen.  At  first,  all  was  sunshine  before 
him;  he  had  contrived  to  make  himself  useful  to  his  party; 
he  had  also  made  himself  personally  popular.  To  the  ease 
and  cordiality  of  his  happy  address,  he  added  the  seemingly 
careless  candour  so  often  mistaken  for  honesty;  while,  as 
there  was  nothing  showy  or  brilliant  in  his  abilities  or  ora- 
tory—  nothing  that  aspired  far  above  the  pretensions  of 
others,  and  aroused  envy  by  mortifying  self-love  —  he  created 
but  little  jealousy  even  amongst  the  rivals  before  whom  he 
obtained  precedence.  For  some  time,  therefore,  he  went 
smoothly  on,  continuing  to  rise  in  the  estimation  of  his 
party,  and  commanding  a  certain  respect  from  the  neutral 
public,  by  acknowledged  and  eminent  talents  in  the  details 
of  business;  for  his  quickness  of  penetration,  and  a  logical 
habit  of  mind,  enabled  him  to  grapple  with  and  generalize  the 
minutiae  of  official  labour  or  of  legislative  enactments  with  a 
masterly  success.  But  as  the  road  became  clearer  to  his  steps, 
his  ambition  became  more  evident  and  daring.  Naturally  dic- 
tatorial and  presumptuous,  his  early  suppleness  to  superiors 
was  now  exchanged  for  a  self-willed  pertinacity,  which  often 
displeased  the  more  haughty  leaders  of  his  party,  and  often 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  95 

wounded  the  more  vain.  His  pretensions  were  scanned  witli 
eyes  more  jealous  and  less  tolerant  than  at  first.  Proud 
aristocrats  began  to  recollect  that  a  mushroom  peerage  was 
supported  but  by  a  scanty  fortune;  the  men  of  more  dazzling 
genius  began  to  sneer  at  the  red-tape  minister  as  a  mere  offi- 
cial manager  of  details;  he  lost  much  of  the  personal  popu- 
larity which  had  been  one  secret  of  his  power.  But  what 
principally  injured  him  in  the  eyes  of  his  party  and  the  public 
were  certain  ambiguous  and  obscure  circumstances  connected 
with  a  short  period  when  himself  and  his  associates  were 
thrown  out  of  office.  At  this  time,  it  was  noticeable  that  the 
journals  of  the  Government  that  succeeded  were  peculiarly 
polite  to  Lord  Vargrave,  while  they  covered  all  his  coadjutors 
with  obloquy:  and  it  was  more  than  suspected  that  secret 
negotiations  between  himself  and  the  new  ministry  were 
going  on,  when  suddenly  the  latter  broke  up,  and  Lord 
Vargrave's  proper  party  were  reinstated.  The  vague  suspi- 
cions that  attached  to  Vargrave  were  somewhat  strengthened 
in  the  opinion  of  the  public  by  the  fact  that  he  was  at  first 
left  out  of  the  restored  administration;  and  when  subse- 
quently, after  a  speech  which  showed  that  he  could  be 
mischievous  if  not  propitiated,  he  was  readmitted,  it  was 
precisely  to  the  same  office  he  had  held  before,  —  an  office 
which  did  not  admit  him  into  the  Cabinet.  Lumley,  burn- 
ing with  resentment,  longed  to  decline  the  offer;  but,  alas! 
he  was  poor,  and,  what  was  worse,  in  debt ;  "  his  poverty,  but 
not  his  will,  consented."  He  was  reinstated;  but  though  pro- 
digiously improved  as  a  debater,  he  felt  that  he  had  not 
advanced  as  a  public  man.  His  ambition  inflamed  by  his 
discontent,  he  had,  since  his  return  to  office,  strained  every 
nerve  to  strengthen  his  position.  He  met  the  sarcasms  on 
his  poverty  by  greatly  increasing  his  expenditure,  and  by 
advertising  everywhere  his  engagement  to  an  heiress  whose 
fortune,  great  as  it  was,  he  easily  contrived  to  magnify.  As 
his  old  house  in  Great  George  Street  —  well  fitted  for  the 
bustling  commoner  —  was  no  longer  suited  to  the  official  and 
fashionable  peer,  he  had,  on  his  accession  to  the  title,  ex- 
changed that  respectable  residence  for  a  large  mansion  in 


96  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Hamilton  Place;  and  his  sober  dinners  were  succeeded  by- 
splendid  banquets.  Naturally,  he  had  no  taste  for  such 
things ;  his  mind  was  too  nervous,  and  his  temper  too  hard, 
to  take  pleasure  in  luxu  ry  or  ostentation.  But  now,  as  ever 
he  acted  upon  a  system.  Living  in  a  country  governed  by  the 
mightiest  and  wealthiest  aristocracy  in  the  world,  which, 
from  the  first  class  almost  to  the  lowest,  ostentation  per- 
vades, —  the  very  backbone  and  marrow  of  society,  —  he  felt 
that  to  fall  far  short  of  his  rivals  in  display  was  to  give  them 
an  advantage  which  he  could  not  compensate  either  by  the 
power  of  his  connections  or  the  surpassing  loftiness  of  his 
character  and  genius.  Playing  for  a  great  game,  and  with 
his  eyes  open  to  all  the  consequences,  he  cared  not  for  involv- 
ing his  private  fortunes  in  a  lottery  in  which  a  great  prize 
might  be  drawn.  To  do  Vargrave  justice,  money  with  him 
had  never  been  an  object,  but  a  means ;  he  was  grasping,  but 
not  avaricious.  If  men  much  richer  than  Lord  Vargrave  find 
State  distinctions  very  expensive,  and  often  ruinous,  it  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  his  salary,  joined  to  so  moderate  a  pri- 
vate fortune,  could  support  the  style  in  which  he  lived.  His 
income  was  already  deeply  mortgaged,  and  debt  accumulated 
upon  debt.  Nor  had  this  man,  so  eminent  for  the  manage- 
ment of  public  business,  any  of  that  talent  which  springs  from 
justice,  and  makes  its  possessor  a  skilful  manager  of  his  own 
affairs.  Perpetually  absorbed  in  intrigues  and  schemes,  he 
was  too  much  engaged  in  cheating  others  on  a  large  scale  to 
have  time  to  prevent  being  himself  cheated  on  a  small  one. 
He  never  looked  into  bills  till  he  was  compelled  to  pay  them; 
and  he  never  calculated  the  amount  of  an  expense  that  seemed 
the  least  necessary  to  his  purposes.  But  still  Lord  Vargrave 
relied  upon  his  marriage  with  the  wealthy  Evelyn  to  relieve 
him  from  all  his  embarrassments ;  and  if  a  doubt  of  the  real- 
ization of  that  vision  ever  occvirred  to  him,  still  public  life 
had  splendid  prizes.  Nay,  should  he  fail  with  Miss  Cameron, 
he  even  thought  that,  by  good  management,  he  might  ulti- 
mately make  it  worth  while  to  his  colleagues  to  purchase  his 
absence  with  the  gorgeous  bribe  of  the  Governor-Generalship 
of  India. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES.  97 

As  oratory  is  an  art  in  which  practice  and  the  dignity  of 
station  produce  marvellous  improvement,  so  Lumley  had 
of  late  made  effects  in  the  House  of  Lords  of  which  he  had 
once  been  judged  incapable.  It  is  true  that  no  practice  and 
no  station  can  give  men  qualities  in  which  they  are  wholly 
deficient;  but  these  advantages  can  bring  out  in  the  best  light 
all  the  qualities  they  do  possess.  The  glow  of  a  generous 
imagination,  the  grasp  of  a  profound  statesmanship,  the  en- 
thusiasm of  a  noble  nature, — these  no  practice  could  educe 
from  the  eloquence  of  Lumley  Lord  Vargrave,  for  he  had 
them  not;  but  bold  wit,  fluent  and  vigorous  sentences,  effec- 
tive arrangement  of  parliamentary  logic,  readiness  of  retort, 
plausibility  of  manner,  aided  by  a  delivery  peculiar  for  self- 
possession  and  ease,  a  clear  and  ringing  voice  (to  the  only  fault 
of  which,  shrillness  without  passion,  the  ear  of  the  audience 
had  grown  accustomed),  and  a  countenance  impressive  from  its 
courageous  intelligence,  —  all  these  had  raised  the  promising 
speaker  into  the  matured  excellence  of  a  nervous  and  formid- 
able debater.  But  precisely  as  he  rose  in  the  display  of  his 
talents,  did  he  awaken  envies  and  enmities  hitherto  dormant. 
And  it  must  be  added  that,  with  all  his  craft  and  coldness, 
Lord  Vargrave  was  often  a  very  dangerous  and  mischievous 
speaker  for  the  interests  of  his  party.  His  colleagues  had 
often  cause  to  tremble  when  he  rose:  nay,  even  when  the 
cheers  of  his  own  faction  shook  the  old  tapestried  walls.  A 
man  who  has  no  sympathy  with  the  public  must  commit  many 
and  fatal  indiscretions  when  the  public,  as  well  as  his  audi- 
ence, is  to  be  his  judge.  Lord  Vargrave's  utter  incapacity  to 
comprehend  political  morality,  his  contempt  for  all  the  objects 
of  social  benevolence,  frequently  led  him  into  the  avowal  of 
doctrines,  which,  if  they  did  not  startle  the  men  of  the  world 
whom  he  addressed  (smoothed  away,  as  such  doctrines  were, 
by  speciousness  of  manner  and  delivery),  created  deep  disgust 
in  those  even  of  his  own  politics  who  read  their  naked  exposi- 
tion in  the  daily  papers.  Never  did  Lord  Vargrave  utter  one 
of  those  generous  sentiments  which,  no  matter  whether  pro- 
pounded by  Radical  or  Tory,  sink  deep  into  the  heart  of  the 
people,  and  do  lasting  service  to  the  cause  they  adorn.  But  no 
man  defended  an  abuse,  however  glaring,  with  a  more  vigor- 

7 


98  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

ous  championship,  or  hurled  defiance  upon  a  popular  demand 
with  a  more  courageous  scorn.  In  some  times,  when  the  anti- 
popular  principle  is  strong,  such  a  leader  may  be  useful;  but 
at  the  moment  of  which  we  treat  he  was  a  most  equivocal 
auxiliary.  A  considerable  proportion  of  the  ministers,  headed 
by  the  premier  himself,  a  man  of  wise  views  and  unimpeach- 
able honour,  had  learned  to  view  Lord  Vargrave  with  dislike 
and  distrust.  They  might  have  sought  to  get  rid  of  him;  but 
he  was  not  one  whom  slight  mortifications  could  induce  to 
retire  of  his  own  accord,  nor  was  the  sarcastic  and  bold  de- 
bater a  person  whose  resentment  and  opposition  could  be 
despised.  Lord  Vargrave,  moreover,  had  secured  a  party  of 
his  own,  —  a  party  more  formidable  than  himself.  He  went 
largely  into  society;  he  was  the  special  favourite  of  the  female 
diplomats,  whose  voices  at  that  time  were  powerful  suffrages, 
and  with  whom,  by  a  thousand  links  of  gallantry  and  intrigue, 
the  agreeable  and  courteous  minister  formed  a  close  alliance. 
All  that  salons  could  do  for  him  was  done.  Added  to  this,  he 
was  personally  liked  by  his  royal  master;  and  the  Court  gave 
him  their  golden  opinions;  while  the  poorer,  the  corrupter, 
and  the  more  bigoted  portion  of  the  ministry  regarded  him 
with  avowed  admiration. 

In  the  House  of  Commons,  too,  and  in  the  bureaucracy,  he 
had  no  inconsiderable  strength ;  for  Lumley  never  contracted 
the  habits  of  personal  abruptness  and  discourtesy  common  to 
men  in  power  who  wish  to  keep  applicants  aloof.  He  was 
bland  and  conciliating  to  all  men  of  ranks;  his  intellect  and 
self-complacency  raised  him  far  above  the  petty  jealousies 
that  great  men  feel  for  rising  men.  Did  any  tyro  earn  the 
smallest  distinction  in  parliament,  no  man  sought  his  ac- 
quaintance so  eagerly  as  Lord  Vargrave;  no  man  compli- 
mented, encouraged,  "  brought  on "  the  new  aspirants  of  his 
party  with  so  hearty  a  good  will. 

Such  a  minister  could  not  fail  of  having  devoted  followers 
among  the  able,  the  ambitious,  and  the  vain.  It  must  also  be 
confessed  that  Lord  Vargrave  neglected  no  baser  and  less  jus- 
tifiable means  to  cement  his  power  by  placing  it  on  the  sure 
rock  of  self-interest.  No  jobbing  was  too  gross  for  him.  He 
was  shamefully  corrupt  in  the  disposition  of  his  patronage; 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  99 

and  no  rebuffs,  no  taunts  from  his  oflBcial  brethren,  could 
restrain  him  from  urging  the  claims  of  any  of  his  creatures 
upon  the  public  purse.  His  followers  regarded  this  charitable 
selfishness  as  the  stanchness  and  zeal  of  friendship;  and  the 
ambition  of  hundreds  was  wound  up  in  the  ambition  of  the 
unprincipled  minister. 

But  besides  the  notoriety  of  his  public  corruption,  Lord 
Vargrave  was  secretly  suspected  by  some  of  personal  dishon- 
esty, —  suspected  of  selling  his  State  information  to  stock- 
jobbers, of  having  pecuniary  interests  in  some  of  the  claims 
he  urged  with  so  obstinate  a  pertinacity.  And  though  there 
was  not  the  smallest  evidence  of  such  utter  abandonment  of 
honour,  though  it  was  probably  but  a  calumnious  whisper, 
yet  the  mere  suspicion  of  such  practices  served  to  sharpen  the 
aversion  of  his  enemies,  and  justify  the  disgust  of  his  rivals. 

In  this  position  now  stood  Lord  Vargrave:  supported  by 
interested,  but  able  and  powerful  partisans;  hated  in  the 
country,  feared  by  some  of  those  with  whom  he  served, 
despised  by  others,  looked  up  to  by  the  rest.  It  was  a 
situation  that  less  daunted  than  delighted  him;  for  it  seemed 
to  render  necessary  and  excuse  the  habits  of  scheming  and 
manoeuvre  which  were  so  genial  to  his  crafty  and  plotting 
temper.  Like  an  ancient  Greek,  his  spirit  loved  intrigue  for 
intrigue's  sake.  Had  it  led  to  no  end,  it  would  still  have 
been  sweet  to  him  as  a  means.  He  rejoiced  to  surround  him- 
self with  the  most  complicated  webs  and  meshes;  to  sit  in  the 
centre  of  a  million  plots.  He  cared  not  how  rash  and  wild 
some  of  them  were.  He  relied  on  his  own  ingenuity,  promp- 
titude, and  habitual  good  fortune  to  make  every  spring  he 
handled  conducive  to  the  purpose  of  the  machine  —  self. 

His  last  visit  to  Lady  Vargrave,  and  his  conversation  with 
Evelyn,  had  left  on  his  mind  much  dissatisfaction  and  fear. 
In  the  earlier  years  of  his  intercourse  with  Evelyn,  his  good 
humour,  gallantry,  and  presents  had  not  failed  to  attach  the 
child  to  the  agreeable  and  liberal  visitor  she  had  been  taught 
to  regard  as  a  relation.  It  was  only  as  she  grew  up  to  woman- 
hood, and  learned  to  comprehend  the  nature  of  the  tie  between 
them,  that  she  shrank  from  his  familiarity,  and  then  only  had 


100  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

he  learned  to  doubt  of  the  fulfilment  of  his  uncle's  wish.  The 
last  visit  had  increased  this  doubt  to  a  painful  apprehension. 
He  saw  that  he  was  not  loved ;  he  saw  that  it  required  great 
address,  and  the  absence  of  happier  rivals,  to  secure  to  him 
the  hand  of  Evelyn;  and  he  cursed  the  duties  and  the  schemes 
which  necessarily  kept  him  from  her  side.  He  had  thought 
of  persuading  Lady  Vargrave  to  let  her  come  to  London, 
where  he  could  be  ever  at  hand ;  and  as  the  season  was  now 
set  in,  his  representations  on  this  head  would  appear  sensible 
and  just.  But  then  again  this  was  to  incur  greater  dangers 
than  those  he  would  avoid.  London !  —  a  beauty  and  an  heir- 
ess, in  her  first  debut  in  London!  What  formidable  admirers 
would  flock  around  her !  Vargrave  shuddered  to  think  of  the 
gay,  handsome,  well-dressed,  seductive  young  Uegans,  who 
might  seem,  to  a  girl  of  seventeen,  suitors  far  more  fascinat- 
ing than  the  middle-aged  politician.  This  was  perilous ;  nor 
was  this  all :  Lord  Vargrave  knew  that  in  London  —  gaudy, 
babbling,  and  remorseless  London  —  all  that  he  could  most 
wish  to  conceal  from  the  young  lady  would  be  dragged  to  day. 
He  had  been  the  lover,  not  of  one,  but  of  a  dozen  women,  for 
whom  he  did  not  care  three  straws,  but  whose  favour  had 
served  to  strengthen  him  in  society,  or  whose  influence  made 
up  for  his  own  want  of  hereditary  political  connections.  The 
manner  in  which  he  contrived  to  shake  off  these  various 
Ariadnes,  whenever  it  was  advisable,  was  not  the  least  strik- 
ing proof  of  his  diplomatic  abilities.  He  never  left  them 
enemies.  According  to  his  own  solution  of  the  mystery,  he 
took  care  never  to  play  the  gallant  with  Dulcineas  under  a 
certain  age.  "Middle-aged  women,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "are 
very  little  different  from  middle-aged  men;  they  see  things 
sensibly,  and  take  things  coolly."  Now  Evelyn  could  not  be 
three  weeks,  perhaps  three  days,  in  London,  without  learning 
of  one  or  the  other  of  these  liaisons.  What  an  excuse,  if  she 
sought  one,  to  break  with  him!  Altogether,  Lord  Vargrave 
was  sorely  perplexed,  but  not  despondent.  Evelyn's  fortune 
was  more  than  ever  necessary  to  him,  and  Evelyn  he  was 
resolved  to  obtain  since  to  that  fortune  she  was  an  indispensa- 
ble appendage. 


ALICE;    OK,  THE  MYSTERIES.  101 


CHAPTER   II. 
You  shall  be  Horace,  and  Tibullus  I.  —  Pope. 

LoBD  Vargbave  was  disturbed  from  his  revery  by  the 
entrance  of  the  Earl  of  Saxingham. 

"  You  are  welcome !  "  said  Lumley,  "  welcome !  —  the  very 
man  I  wished  to  see." 

Lord  Saxingham,  who  was  scarcely  altered  since  we  met 
with  him  in  the  last  series  of  this  work,  except  that  he  had 
grown  somewhat  paler  and  thinner,  and  that  his  hair  had 
changed  from  iron-gray  to  snow-white,  threw  himself  in  the 
armchair  beside  Lumley,  and  replied,  — 

"Vargrave,  it  is  really  unpleasant,  our  finding  ourselves 
always  thus  controlled  by  our  own  partisans.  I  do  not 
understand  this  new-fangled  policy,  this  squaring  of  meas- 
ures to  please  the  Opposition,  and  throwing  sops  to  that 
many-headed  monster  called  Public  Opinion.  I  am  sure  it 
will  end  most  mischievously." 

"  I  am  satisfied  of  it,"  returned  Lord  Vargrave.    "All  vigour 

and  union  seem  to  have  left  us ;  and  if  they  carry  the 

question  against  us,  I  know  not  what  is  to  be  done." 

"For  my  part,  I  shall  resign,"  said  Lord  Saxingham,  dog- 
gedly; "it  is  the  only  alternative  left  to  men  of  honour." 

"  You  are  wrong ;  I  know  another  alternative. " 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Make  a  Cabinet  of  our  own.  Look  ye,  my  dear  lord ;  you 
have  been  ill-used ;  your  high  character,  your  long  experience, 
are  treated  with  contempt.  It  is  an  affront  to  you  —  the  situa- 
tion you  hold.  You,  Privy  Seal!  — you  ought  to  be  Premier; 
ay,  and,  if  you  are  ruled  by  me,  Premier  you  shall  be  yet." 

Lord  Saxingham  coloured,  and  breathed  hard. 

"You  have  often  hinted  at  this  before,  Lumley;  but  you  are 
so  partial,  so  friendly." 


102  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Not  at  all.     You  saw  the  leading  article   in  the  

to-day?  That  will  be  followed  up  by  two  evening  papers 
within  five  hours  of  this  time.  We  have  strength  with  the 
Press,  with  the  Commons,  with  the  Court,  —  only  let  us  hold 

fast  together.     This question,  by  which  they  hope  to  get 

rid  of  us,  shall  destroy  them.  You  shall  be  Prime  Minister 
before  the  year  is  over  —  by  Heaven,  you  shall !  —  and  then,  I 
suppose,  /  too  may  be  admitted  to  the  Cabinet !  " 

"But  how?  —  how,  Lumley?  You  are  too  rash,  too 
daring." 

"It  has  not  been  my  fault  hitherto,  — but  boldness  is 
caution  in  our  circumstances.  If  they  throw  us  out  now,  I 
see  the  inevitable  march  of  events,  —  we  shall  be  out  for 
years,  perhaps  for  life.  The  Cabinet  will  recede  more  and 
more  from  our  principles,  our  party.  Now  is  the  time  for  a 
determined  stand;  now  can  we  make  or  mar  ourselves.  I 
will  not  resign;  the  king  is  with  us;  our  strength  shall  be 
known.  These  haughty  imbeciles  shall  fall  into  the  trap  they 
have  dug  for  us." 

Lumley  spoke  warmly,  and  with  the  confidence  of  a  mind 
firmly  assured  of  success.  Lord  Saxingham  was  moved; 
bright  visions  flashed  across  him,  —  the  premiership,  a  duke- 
dom. Yet  he  was  old  and  childless,  and  his  honours  would 
die  with  the  last  lord  of  Saxingham ! 

"See,"  continued  Lumley,  "I  have  calculated  our  resources 
as  accurately  as  an  electioneering  agent  would  cast  up  the  list 

of  voters.     In  the  Press,  I  have  secured  and ,  and 

in  the  Commons  we  have  the  subtle  ,  and  the  vigour  of 

,  and  the  popular  name  of  ,  and  all  the  boroughs  of 

;  in  the  Cabinet  we  have  ,  and  at  Court  you  know 

our  strength.  Let  us  choose  our  moment ;  a  sudden  coup,  an 
interview  with  the  king,  statement  of  our  conscientious  scru- 
ples to  this  atrocious  measure.  I  know  the  vain,  stiff  mind 
of  the  premier;  he  will  lose  temper,  he  will  tender  his  resig- 
nation; to  his  astonishment,  it  will  be  accepted.  You  will 
be  sent  for ;  we  will  dissolve  parliament ;  we  will  strain  every 
nerve  in  the  elections;  we  shall  succeed,  I  know  we  shall. 
But  be  silent  in  the  meanwhile,  be  cautious :  let  not  a  word 


ALICE;    OR,   THIT  MYSTERIES.  103 

escape  you,  let  them  think  us  beaten;  lull  suspicion  asleep; 
let  us  lament  our  weakness,  and  hint,  only  hint  at  our  resig- 
nation, but  with  assurances  of  continued  support.  I  know 
how  to  blind  them,  if  you  leave  it  to  me." 

The  weak  mind  of  the  old  earl  was  as  a  puppet  in  the  hands 
of  his  bold  kinsman.  He  feared  one  moment,  hoped  another; 
now  his  ambition  was  flattered,  now  his  sense  of  honour  was 
alarmed.  There  was  something  in  Lumley's  intrigue  to  oust 
the  government  with  which  he  served  that  had  an  appearance 
of  cunning  and  baseness,  of  which  Lord  Saxingham,  whose 
personal  character  was  high,  by  no  means  approved.  But 
Vargrave  talked  him  over  with  consummate  address,  and 
when  they  parted,  the  earl  carried  his  head  two  inches 
higher,  —  he  was  preparing  himself  for  his  rise  in  life. 

"  That  is  well !  that  is  well ! "  said  Lumley,  rubbing  his 
hands  when  he  was  left  alone :  "  the  old  driveller  will  be  my 
locum  tenens,  till  years  and  renown  enable  me  to  become  his 
successor.  Meanwhile,  I  shall  be  really  what  he  will  be  in 
name." 

Here  Lord  Vargrave 's  well-fed  servant,  now  advanced  to 
the  dignity  of  own  gentleman  and  house-steward,  entered  the 
room  with  a  letter ;  it  had  a  portentous  look ;  it  was  waf ered, 
the  paper  was  blue,  the  hand  clerklike,  there  was  no  envelope ; 
it  bore  its  infernal  origin  on  the  face  of  it,  —  it  was  a  dun's. 

Lumley  opened  the  epistle  with  an  impatient  pshaw!  The 
man,  a  silversmith  (Lumley's  plate  was  much  admired!)  had 
applied  for  years  in  vain;  the  amount  was  large,  and  execu- 
tion was  threatened !  An  execution !  —  it  is  a  trifle  to  a  rich 
man;  but  no  trifle  to  one  suspected  of  being  poor,  one  strain- 
ing at  that  very  moment  at  so  high  an  object,  one  to  whom 
public  opinion  was  so  necessary,  one  who  knew  that  nothing 
but  his  title,  and  scarcely  that,  saved  him  from  the  reputa- 
tion of  an  adventurer!  He  must  again  have  recourse  to  the 
money-lenders,  —  his  small  estate  was  long  since  too  deeply 
mortgaged  to  afford  new  security.  Usury,  usury,  again!  — 
he  knew  its  price,  and  he  sighed  —  but  what  was  to  be  done? 

"It  is  but  for  a  few  months,  a  few  months,  and  Evelyn 
must  be  mine.     Saxingham  has  already  lent  me  what  he  can; 


104  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

but  he  is  embarrassed.  This  d — d  office,  what  a  tax  it  is !  and 
the  rascals  say  we  are  too  well  paid !  I,  too,  who  could  live 
happy  in  a  garret,  if  this  purse-proud  England  would  but 
allow  one  to  exist  within  one's  income.  My  fellow-trustee, 
the  banker,  my  uncle's  old  correspondent  —  ah,  well  thought 
of !  He  knows  the  conditions  of  the  will ;  he  knows  that,  at 
the  worst,  I  must  have  thirty  thousand  pounds,  if  I  live  a  few 
months  longer.     I  will  go  to  him. " 


CHAPTEE  III. 
Anihum  nunc  hoc  celerem,  nunc  dividit  illuc.^  —  Virgil. 

The  late  Mr.  Templeton  had  been  a  banker  in  a  provincial 
town,  which  was  the  centre  of  great  commercial  and  agricul- 
tural activity  and  enterprise.  He  had  made  the  bulk  of  his 
fortune  in  the  happy  days  of  paper  currency  and  war.  Be- 
sides his  country  bank  he  had  a  considerable  share  in  a  met- 
ropolitan one  of  some  eminence.  At  the  time  of  his  marriage 
with  the  present  Lady  Vargrave  he  retired  altogether  from 
business,  and  never  returned  to  the  place  in  which  his  wealth 
had  been  amassed.  He  had  still  kept  up  a  familiar  acquaint- 
ance with  the  principal  and  senior  partner  of  the  metropolitan 
bank  I  have  referred  to ;  for  he  was  a  man  who  always  loved 
to  talk  about  money  matters  with  those  who  understood  them. 
This  gentleman,  Mr.  Gustavus  Douce,  had  been  named,  with 
Lumley,  joint  trustee  to  Evelyn's  fortune.  They  had  full 
powers  to  invest  it  in  whatever  stock  seemed  most  safe  or 
advantageous.  The  trustees  appeared  well  chosen,  as  one, 
being  destined  to  share  the  fortune,  would  have  the  deepest 
interest  in  its  security;  and  the  other,  from  his  habits  and 
profession,  would  be  a  most  excellent  adviser. 

Of  Mr.  Douce,  Lord  Vargrave  had  seen  but  little;   they 

1  "Now  this,  now  that,  distracts  the  active  mind." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  106 

were  not  thrown  together.  But  Lord  Vargrave,  who  thought 
every  rich  man  might,  some  time  or  other,  become  a  desirable 
acquaintance,  regularly  asked  him  once  every  year  to  dinner; 
and  twice  in  return  he  had  dined  with  Mr.  Douce,  in  one  of 
the  most  splendid  villas,  and  off  some  of  the  most  splendid 
plate  it  had  ever  been  his  fortune  to  witness  and  to  envy !  — 
so  that  the  little  favour  he  was  about  to  ask  was  but  a  slight 
return  for  Lord  Vargrave's  condescension. 

He  found  the  banker  in  his  private  sanctum,  his  carriage 
at  the  door;  for  it  was  just  four  o'clock,  an  hour  in  which 
Mr.  Douce  regularly  departed  to  Caserta,  as  his  aforesaid 
villa  was  somewhat  affectedly  styled. 

Mr.  Douce  was  a  small  man,  a  nervous  man;  he  did  not 
seem  quite  master  of  his  own  limbs :  when  he  bowed  he  seemed 
to  be  making  you  a  present  of  his  legs ;  when  he  sat  down,  he 
twitched  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  then  took  them  out,  and  looked  at  them,  as 
if  in  astonishment,  then  seized  upon  a  pen,  by  which  they 
were  luckily  provided  with  incessant  occupation.  Mean- 
while, there  was  what  might  fairly  be  called  a  constant 
play  of  countenance :  first  he  smiled,  then  looked  grave ;  now 
raised  his  eyebrows,  till  they  rose  like  rainbows,  to  the  hori- 
zon of  his  pale,  straw-coloured  hair;  and  next  darted  them 
down,  like  an  avalanche,  over  the  twinkling,  restless,  flutter- 
ing, little  blue  eyes,  which  then  became  almost  invisible. 
Mr.  Douce  had,  in  fact,  all  the  appearance  of  a  painfully 
shy  man,  which  was  the  more  strange,  as  he  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  enterprise,  and  even  audacity,  in  the  business  of  his 
profession,  and  was  fond  of  the  society  of  the  great, 

"I  have  called  on  you,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Lord  Vargrave, 
after  the  preliminary  salutations,  "to  ask  a  little  favour, 
which,  if  the  least  inconvenient,  have  no  hesitation  in  refus- 
ing. You  know  how  I  am  situated  with  regard  to  my  ward, 
Miss  Cameron;  in  a  few  months  I  hope  she  will  be  Lady 
Vargrave." 

Mr.  Douce  showed  three  small  teeth,  which  were  all  that, 
in  the  front  of  his  mouth,  fate  had  left  him ;  and  then,  as  if 
alarmed  at  the  indelicacy  of  a  smile  upon  such  a  subject, 


106  ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES. 

pushed  back  his  chair,  and  twitched  up  his  blotting-paper- 
coloured  trousers. 

"  Yes,  in  a  few  months  I  hope  she  will  be  Lady  Vargrave ; 
and  you  know  then,  Mr.  Douce,  that  I  shall  be  in  no  want  of 
money." 

"  I  hope  —  that  is  to  say,  I  am  sure,  —  that  —  I  trust  that 
never  will  be  the  ca-ca-case  with  your  lordship,"  put  in  Mr. 
Douce,  with  timid  hesitation.  Mr.  Douce,  in  addition  to  his 
other  good  qualities,  stammered  much  in  the  delivery  of  his 
sentences. 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  it  is  the  case  just  at  present;  I 
have  great  need  of  a  few  thousand  pounds  upon  my  personal 
security.  My  estate  is  already  a  little  mortgaged,  and  I  don't 
wish  to  encumber  it  more;  besides,  the  loan  would  be  merely 
temporary.  You  know  that  if  at  the  age  of  eighteen  Miss 
Cameron  refuses  me  (a  supposition  out  of  the  question,  but  in 
business  we  must  calculate  on  improbabilities),  I  claim  the 
forfeit  she  incurs,  — thirty  thousand  pounds;  you  remember." 

"  Oh,  yes  —  that  —  is  —  upon  my  word  —  I  —  I  don't  exactly 

—  but  —  your  lord  —  1-1-1-lord-lordship  knows  best  —  I  have 
been  so  —  so  busy  —  I  forget  the  exact  —  hem  —  hem !  " 

"  If  you  just  turn  to  the  will  you  will  see  it  is  as  I  say. 
Now,  could  you  conveniently  place  a  few  thousands  to  my 
account,  just  for  a  short  time?  But  T  see  you  don't  like  it. 
Never  miud,  I  can  get  it  elsewhere;  only,  as  you  were  my 
poor  uncle's  friend  —  " 

"Your  lord  —  1-1-1-lordship  is  quite  mistaken,"  said  Mr. 
Douce,  with  trembling  agitation;  "upon  my  word,  yes,  a  few 
thou-thou-thousands  —  to  be  sure  —  to  be  sure.  Your  lord- 
ship's banker  is  —  is  —  " 

"  Drummond  —  disagreeable  people  —  by  no  means  obliging. 
I  shall  certainly  change  to  your  house  when  my  accounts  are 
better  worth  keeping." 

"  You  do  me  great  —  great  honour;  I  will  just  —  step  —  step 

—  step  out  for  a  moment  —  and  —  and  speak  to  Mr.  Dobs ;  — 
not  but  what  you  may  depend  on.  —  Excuse  me !  '  Morning 
Chron-chron-Chronicle, '  my  lord!  " 

Mr.  Douce  rose,  as  if  by  galvanism,  and  ran  out  of  the 


ALICE;    OR,    THE  MYSTERIES.  107 

room,  spinning  round  as  he  ran,  to  declare,  again  and  again, 
that  he  would  not  be  gone  a  moment. 

"Good  little  fellow,  that  —  very  like  an  electrified  frog!" 
murmured  Vargrave,  as  he  took  up  the  "Morning  Chronicle," 
so  especially  pointed  out  to  his  notice;  and  turning  to  the 
leading  article,  read  a  very  eloquent  attack  on  himself. 
Lumley  was  thick-skinned  on  such  matters;  he  liked  to 
be  attacked,  —  it  showed  that  he  was  up  in  the  world. 

Presently  Mr.  Douce  returned.  To  Lord  Vargrave's  amaze- 
ment and  delight,  he  was  informed  that  £10,000  would  be 
immediately  lodged  with  Messrs.  Drummond.  His  bill  of 
promise  to  pay  in  three  months  —  five  per  cent  interest  —  was 
quite  sufficient.  Three  months  was  a  short  date ;  but  the  bill 
could  be  renewed  on  the  same  terms,  from  quarter  to  quarter, 
till  quite  convenient  to  his  lordship  to  pay.  "Would  Lord 
Vargrave  do  him  the  honour  to  dine  with  him  at  Caserta  next 
Monday?" 

Lord  Vargrave  tried  to  affect  apathy  at  his  sudden  accession 
of  ready  money,  but  really  it  almost  turned  his  head;  he  griped 
both  Mr.  Douce's  thin,  little  shivering  hands,  and  was  speech- 
less with  gratitude  and  ecstasy.  The  sum,  which  doubled  the 
utmost  he  expected,  would  relieve  him  from  all  his  immediate 
embarrassments.  When  he  recovered  his  voice,  he  thanked 
his  dear  Mr.  Douce  with  a  warmth  that  seemed  to  make  the 
little  man  shrink  into  a  nutshell ;  and  assured  him  that  he 
would  dine  with  him  every  Monday  in  the  year  —  if  he  was 
asked!  He  then  longed  to  depart;  but  he  thought,  justly, 
that  to  go  as  soon  as  he  had  got  what  he  wanted  would  look 
selfish.  Accordingly,  he  reseated  himself,  and  so  did  Mr. 
Douce,  and  the  conversation  turned  upon  politics  and  news; 
but  Mr.  Douce,  who  seemed  to  regard  all  things  with  a  com- 
mercial eye,  contrived,  Vargrave  hardly  knew  how,  to  veer 
round  from  the  change  in  the  French  ministry  to  the  state  of 
the  English  money-market. 

"  It  really  is.  Indeed,  my  lord  —  I  say  it,  I  am  sure,  with 
concern,  a  very  bad  ti-ti-ti-ti-time  for  men  in  business,  — 
indeed,  for  all  men;  such  poor  interest  in  the  English  fu-fun- 
funds,  and  yet  speculations  are  so  unsound.     I  recommended 


108  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

my  friend  Sir  Giles  Grimsby  to  —  to  invest  some  money  in 
the  American  canals j  a  most  rare  res-res-respons-reponsi- 
bility,  I  may  say,  for  me ;  I  am  cautious  in  —  in  recommend- 
ing —  but  Sir  Giles  was  an  old  friend,  —  con-con-connection, 
I  may  say;  but  most  providentially,  all  turned  out  —  that  is 
—  fell  out  —  as  I  was  sure  it  would,  —  thirty  per  cent,  —  and 
the  value  of  the  sh-sh-sh-shares  doubled.  But  such  things 
are  very  rare,  —  quite  godsends,  I  may  say !  " 

"Well,  Mr.  Douce,  whenever  I  have  money  to  lay  out,  I 
must  come  and  consult  you." 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  at  all  times  to  —  to  advise  your 
lordship ;  but  it  is  not  a  thing  I  'm  very  fond  of.  There  's 
Miss  Cameron's  fortune  quite  1-1-locked  up,  — three  per  cents 
and  exchequer  bills;  why,  it  might  have  been  a  mil-mil-mill- 
ion by  this  ti-ti-time,  if  the  good  old  gentleman  —  I  beg  par- 
don—  old  —  old  nobleman,  my  poor  dear  friend,  had  been 
now  alive! " 

"Indeed!"  said  Lumley,  greedily,  and  pricking  up  his 
ears ;    "  he  was  a  good  manager,  my  uncle !  " 

"  None  better,  none  better.  I  may  say  a  genius  for  busi  — 
hem  —  hem!  Miss  Cameron  a  young  woman  of  bus-bus-busi- 
ness, my  lord?" 

"Not  much  of  that,  I  fear.     A  million,  did  you  say?  " 

"At  least!  —  indeed,  at  least  —  money  so  scarce,  specula- 
tion so  sure  in  America;  great  people  the  Americans,  rising 
people,  gi-gi-giants  —  giants !  " 

"  I  am  wasting  your  whole  morning,  —  too  bad  in  me, "  said 
Vargrave,  as  the  clock  struck  five;  "the  Lords  meet  this  even- 
ing,—  important  business;  once  more  a  thousand  thanks  to 
you;  good  day." 

"A  very  good  day  to  you,  my  lord;  don't  mention  it;  glad 
at  any  time  to  ser-ser-serve  you,"  said  Mr.  Douce,  fidgeting, 
curveting,  and  prancing  round  Lord  Vargrave,  as  the  latter 
walked  through  the  outer  oj9ace  to  the  carriage. 

"Not  a  step  more;  you  will  catch  cold.  Good-by  —  on 
Monday,  then,  seven  o'clock.     The  House  of  Lords." 

And  Lumley  threw  himself  back  in  his  carriage  in  high 
spirits. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  109 


CHAPTER   IV. 

OcBLi^  de  TuUie,  et  brave  du  Senat.i 

Voltaire  :  Brutus,  Actii.  sc.  1. 

Ix  the  Lords  that  evening  the  discussion  was  animated  and 
prolonged,  —  it  was  the  last  party  debate  of  the  session.  The 
astute  Opposition  did  not  neglect  to  bring  prominently,  though 
incidentally,  forward  the  question  on  which  it  was  whispered 
that  there  existed  some  growing  difference  in  the  Cabinet. 
Lord  Vargrave  rose  late.  His  temper  was  excited  by  the 
good  fortune  of  his  day's  negotiation;  he  felt  himself  of  more 
importance  than  usual,  as  a  needy  man  is  apt  to  do  when  he 
has  got  a  large  sum  at  his  banker's ;  moreover,  he  was  exas- 
perated by  some  personal  allusions  to  himself,  which  had 
been  delivered  by  a  dignified  old  lord  who  dated  his  family 
from  the  ark,  and  was  as  rich  as  Croesus.  Accordingly,  Var- 
grave spoke  with  more  than  his  usual  vigour.  His  first  sen- 
tences were  welcomed  with  loud  cheers ;  he  warmed,  he  grew 
vehement,  he  uttered  the  most  positive  and  unalterable  senti- 
ments upon  the  question  alluded  to,  he  greatly  transgressed 
the  discretion  which  the  heads  of  his  party  were  desirous  to 
maintain,  —  instead  of  conciliating  without  compromising,  he 
irritated,  galled,  and  compromised.  The  angry  cheers  of  the 
opposite  party  were  loudly  re-echoed  by  the  cheers  of  the  more 
hot-headed  on  his  own  side.  The  premier  and  some  of  his 
colleagues  observed,  however,  a  moody  silence.  The  premier 
once  took  a  note,  and  then  reseated  himself,  and  drew  his  hat 
more  closely  over  his  brows.  It  was  an  ominous  sign  for 
Lumley;  but  he  was  looking  the  Opposition  in  the  face,  and 
did  not  observe  it.  He  sat  down  in  triumph;  he  had  made  a 
most  effective  and  a  most  mischievous  speech,  —  a  combina- 
tion extremely  common.    The  leader  of  the  Opposition  replied 

1  "  Forgotten  by  Tully  and  bullied  by  the  Senate." 


110  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

to  him  with  bitter  calmness;  and  when  citing  some  of  his 
sharp  sentences,  he  turned  to  the  premier,  and  asked,  "Are 
these  opinions  those  also  of  the  noble  lord?  I  call  for  a 
reply,  — I  have  a  right  to  demand  a  reply,"  Lumley  was  star- 
tled to  hear  the  tone  in  which  his  chief  uttered  the  compre- 
hensive and  significant  ^'' Hear,  hear!" 

At  midnight  the  premier  wound  up  the  debate;  his  speech 
was  short,  and  characterized  by  moderation.  He  came  to 
the  question  put  to  him.  The  House  was  hushed,  —  you 
might  have  heard  a  pin  drop;  the  Commoners  behind  the 
throne  pressed  forward  with  anxiety  and  eagerness  on  their 
countenances. 

"I  am  called  upon,"  said  the  minister,  "to  declare  if  those 
sentiments,  uttered  by  my  noble  friend,  are  mine  also,  as  the 
chief  adviser  of  the  Crown.  My  lords,  in  the  heat  of  debate 
every  word  is  not  to  be  scrupulously  weighed,  and  rigidly 
interpreted."  ("Hear,  hear,"  ironically  from  the  Opposition, 
approvingly  from  the  Treasury  benches.)  "My  noble  friend 
will  doubtless  be  anxious  to  explain  what  he  intended  to  say. 
1  hope,  nay,  I  doubt  not,  that  his  explanation  will  be  satisfac- 
tory to  the  noble  lord,  to  the  House,  and  to  the  country ;  but 
since  I  am  called  upon  for  a  distinct  reply  to  a  distinct  inter- 
rogatory, I  will  say  at  once,  that  if  those  sentiments  be  rightly 
interpreted  by  the  noble  lord  who  spoke  last,  those  sentiments 
are  not  mine,  and  will  never  animate  the  conduct  of  any  cabi- 
net of  which  I  am  a  member."  (Long-continued  cheering 
from  the  Opposition.)  "At  the  same  time,  I  am  convinced 
that  my  noble  friend's  meaning  has  not  been  rightly  con- 
strued; and  till  T  hear  from  himself  to  the  contrary,  I  will 
venture  to  state  what  I  think  he  designed  to  convey  to  your 
lordships."  Here  the  premier,  with  a  tact  that  nobody  could 
be  duped  by,  but  every  one  could  admire,  stripped  Lord 
Vargrave's  unlucky  sentences  of  every  syllable  that  could 
give  offence  to  any  one;  and  left  the  pointed  epigrams 
and  vehement  denunciations  a  most  harmless  arrangement 
of  commonplace. 

The  House  was  much  excited;  there  was  a  call  for  Lord 
Vargrave,  and  Lord  Vargrave  promptly  rose.     It  was  one  of 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  Ill 

those  dilemmas  out  of  which  Lumley  was  just  the  man  to 
extricate  himself  with  address.  There  was  so  much  manly- 
frankness  in  his  manner,  there  was  so  much  crafty  subtlety 
in  his  mind!  He  complained,  with  proud  and  honest  bitter- 
ness, of  the  construction  that  had  been  forced  upon  his  words 
by  the  Opposition.  "If,"  he  added  (and  no  man  knew  better 
the  rhetorical  effect  of  the  tu  quoque  form  of  argument),  —  "  if 
every  sentence  uttered  by  the  noble  lord  opposite  in  his  zeal 
for  liberty  had,  in  days  now  gone  by,  been  construed  with 
equal  rigour,  or  perverted  with  equal  ingenuity,  that  noble 
lord  had  long  since  been  prosecuted  as  an  incendiary,  perhaps 
executed  as  a  traitor !  "  Vehement  cheers  from  the  ministerial 
benches ;  cries  of  "  Order !  "  from  the  Opposition.  A  military 
lord  rose  to  order,  and  appealed  to  the  Woolsack. 

Lumley  sat  down  as  if  chafed  at  the  interruption ;  he  had 
produced  the  effect  he  had  desired,  — he  had  changed  the  pub- 
lic question  at  issue  into  a  private  quarrel;  a  new  excitement 
was  created;  dust  was  thrown  into  the  eyes  of  the  House. 
Several  speakers  rose  to  accommodate  matters ;  and  after  half- 
an-hour  of  public  time  had  been  properly  wasted,  the  noble 
lord  on  the  one  side  and  the  noble  lord  on  the  other  duly 
explained,  paid  each  other  the  highest  possible  compliments, 
and  Lumley  was  left  to  conclude  his  vindication,  which  now 
seemed  a  comparatively  flat  matter  after  the  late  explosion. 
He  completed  his  task  so  as  to  satisfy,  apparently,  all  parties 
—  for  all  parties  were  now  tired  of  the  thing,  and  wanted  to 
go  to  bed.  But  the  next  morning  there  were  whispers  about 
the  town,  articles  in  the  different  papers,  evidently  by  author- 
ity, rejoicings  among  the  Opposition,  and  a  general  feeling 
that  though  the  Government  might  keep  together  that  session, 
its  dissensions  would  break  out  before  the  next  meeting  of 
parliament. 

As  Lumley  was  wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak  after  this 
stormy  debate,  the  Marquess  of  Raby  —  a  peer  of  large  pos- 
sessions, and  one  who  entirely  agreed  with  Lumley's  views  — 
came  up  to  him,  and  proposed  that  they  should  go  home  to- 
gether in  Lord  Raby's  carriage.  Vargrave  willingly  con- 
sented, and  dismissed  his  own  servants. 


112  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"  You  did  that  admirably,  my  dear  Vargrave ! "  said  Lord 
Raby,  when  they  were  seated  in  the  carriage.  "  I  quite  coin- 
cide in  all  your  sentiments-,  I  declare  my  blood  boiled  when  I 

heard  [the  premier]  appear  half  inclined  to  throw  you 

over.     Your  hit  upon  was  first-rate, — he  will  not  get 

over  it  for  a  month;  and  you  extricated  yourself  well." 

"  I  am  glad  you  approve  my  conduct,  —  it  comforts  me,"  said 
Vargrave,  feelingly;  ''at  the  same  time  I  see  all  the  conse- 
quences; but  I  can  brave  all  for  the  sake  of  character  and 
conscience." 

"I  feel  just  as  you  do!"  replied  Lord  Raby,  with  some 

warmth;  "and  if  I  thought  that meant  to  yield  to  this 

question,  I  should  certainly  oppose  his  administration." 

Vargrave  shook  his  head,  and  held  his  tongue,  which  gave 
Lord  Raby  a  high  idea  of  his  discretion. 

After  a  few  more  observations  on  political  matters,  Lord 
Raby  invited  Lumley  to  pay  him  a  visit  at  his  country-seat. 

"I  am  going  to  Knaresdean  next  Monday;  you  know  we 
have  races  in  the  park,  and  really  they  are  sometimes  good 
sport;  at  all  events,  it  is  a  very  pretty  sight.  There  will  be 
nothing  in  the  Lords  now,  —  the  recess  is  just  at  hand  •,  and 
if  you  can  spare  the  time.  Lady  Raby  and  myself  will  be 
delighted  to  see  you." 

"  You  may  be  sure,  my  dear  lord,  I  cannot  refuse  your  invi- 
tation; indeed,  I  intended  to  visit  your  county  next  week. 
You  know,  perhaps,  a  Mr.  Merton." 

"Charles  Merton?  —  to  be  sure;  most  respectable  man,  cap- 
ital fellow,  the  best  parson  in  the  county,  —  no  cant,  but  thor- 
oughly orthodox;  he  certainly  keeps  in  his  brother,  who, 
though  a  very  active  member,  is  what  I  call  a  waverer  on 
certain  questions.     Have  you  known  Merton  long?  " 

"I  don't  know  him  at  all  as  yet;  my  acquaintance  is  with 
his  wife  and  daughter,  —  a  very  fine  girl,  by  the  by.  My 
ward.  Miss  Cameron,  is  staying  with  them." 

"  Miss  Cameron !  Cameron  —  ah,  T  understand.  I  think  I 
have  heard  that  —  But  gossip  does  not  always  tell  the  truth !  " 

Lumley  smiled  significantly,  and  the  carriage  now  stopped 
at  his  door. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  113 

"Perhaps  you  will  take  a  seat  in  our  carriage  on  Monday?" 
said  Lord  Raby. 

"  Monday?  Unhappily  I  am  engaged;  but  on  Tuesday  your 
lordship  may  expect  me." 

"Very  well;  the  races  begin  on  Wednesday:  we  shall  have 
a  full  house.     Good-night." 


CHAPTER   V. 
HoMUNCULi  qaanti  sunt,  cum  recogito.'  —  Plautus. 

It  is  obvious  that  for  many  reasons  we  must  be  brief  upon 
the  political  intrigue  in  which  the  scheming  spirit  of  Lord 
Vargrave  was  employed.  It  would,  indeed,  be  scarcely  possi- 
ble to  preserve  the  necessary  medium  between  too  plain  a  rev- 
elation and  too  complex  a  disguise.  It  suffices,  therefore, 
very  shortly  to  repeat  what  the  reader  has  already  gathered 
from  what  has  gone  before ;  namely,  that  the  question  at  issue 
was  one  which  has  happened  often  enough  in  all  governments, 
—  one  on  which  the  Cabinet  was  divided,  and  in  which  the 
weaker  party  was  endeavouring  to  out-trick  the  stronger. 

The  malcontents,  foreseeing  that  sooner  or  later  the  head 
of  the  gathering  must  break,  were  again  divided  among  them- 
selves whether  to  resign,  or  to  stay  in  and  strive  to  force  a 
resignation  on  their  dissentient  colleagues.  The  richer  and 
the  more  honest  were  for  the  former  course;  the  poorer  and 
the  more  dependent  for  the  latter.  We  have  seen  that  the 
latter  policy  was  that  espoused  and  recommended  by  Var- 
grave, who,  though  not  in  the  Cabinet,  always  contrived 
somehow  or  other  to  worm  out  its  secrets.  At  the  same 
time  he  by  no  means  rejected  the  other  string  to  his  bow. 
If  it  were  possible  so  to  arrange  and  to  strengthen  his  fac- 
tion, that,  by  the  coup  d'itat  of  a  sudden  resignation  in  a 
formidable  body,  the  whole  Government  might  be  broken  up, 

*  "  When  I  reflect,  how  great  yonr  little  men  are  in  their  own 
consideration ! " 

8 


114  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  a  new  one  formed  from  among  the  resignees,  it  would 
obviously  be  the  best  plan.  But  then  Lord  Vargrave  was 
doubtful  of  his  own  strength,  and  fearful  to  play  into  the 
hands  of  his  colleagues,  who  might  be  able  to  stand  even 
better  without  himself  and  his  allies,  and  by  conciliating  the 
Opposition  take  a  step  onward  in  political  movement,  —  which 
might  leave  Vargrave  placeless  and  powerless  for  years  to 
come. 

He  repented  his  own  rashness  in  the  recent  debate,  which 
was,  indeed,  a  premature  boldness  that  had  sprung  out  of 
momentary  excitement  —  for  the  craftiest  orator  must  be 
indiscreet  sometimes.  He  spent  the  next  few  days  in  alter- 
nately seeking  to  explain  away  to  one  party,  and  to  sound, 
unite,  and  consolidate  the  other.  His  attempts  in  the  one 
quarter  were  received  by  the  premier  with  the  cold  politeness 
of  an  offended  but  careful  statesman,  who  believed  just  as 
much  as  he  chose,  and  preferred  taking  his  own  opportunity 
for  a  breach  with  a  subordinate  to  risking  any  imprudence 
by  the  gratification  of  resentment.  In  the  last  quarter,  the 
penetrating  adventurer  saw  that  his  ground  was  more  insecure 
than  he  had  anticipated.  He  perceived  in  dismay  and  secret 
rage  that  nmny  of  those  most  loud  in  his  favour  while  he  was 
with  the  Government  would  desert  him  the  soonest  if  thrown 
out.  Liked  as  a  subordinate  minister,  he  was  viewed  with 
very  different  eyes  the  moment  it  was  a  question  whether, 
instead  of  cheering  his  sentiments,  men  should  trust  them- 
selves to  his  guidance.  Some  did  not  wish  to  displease  the 
Government;  others  did  not  seek  to  weaken  but  to  correct 
them.  One  of  his  stanchest  allies  in  the  Commons  was  a  can- 
didate for  a  peerage;  another  suddenly  remembered  that  he 
was  second  cousin  to  the  premier.  Some  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  a  puppet  premier  in  Lord  Saxingham;  others  insinuated  to 
Vargrave  that  he  himself  was  not  precisely  of  that  standing 
in  the  country  which  would  command  respect  to  a  new  party, 
of  which,  if  not  the  head,  he  would  be  the  mouthpiece.  For 
themselves  they  knew,  admired,  and  trusted  him;  but  those 
d— d  country  gentlemen  —  and  the  dull  public! 

Alarmed,  wearied,  and  disgusted,  the  schemer  saw  himself 


ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  116 

reduced  to  submission,  for  the  present  at  least;  and  more  than 
ever  he  felt  the  necessity  of  Evelyn's  fortune  to  fall  back  upon, 
if  the  chance  of  the  cards  should  rob  him  of  his  salary.  He 
was  glad  to  escape  for  a  breathing-while  from  the  vexations 
and  harassments  that  beset  him,  and  looked  forward  with 
the  eager  interest  of  a  sanguine  and  elastic  mind  —  always 
escaping  from  one  scheme  to  another  —  to  his  excursion  into 
B shire. 

At  the  villa  of  Mr.  Douce,  Lord  Vargrave  met  a  young 
nobleman  who  had  just  succeeded  to  a  property  not  only 
large  and  unencumbered,  but  of  a  nature  to  give  him  impor- 
tance in  the  eyes  of  politicians.  Situated  in  a  very  small 
county,  the  estates  of  Lord  Doltimore  secured  to  his  nomina- 
tion at  least  one  of  the  representatives,  while  a  little  village 
at  the  back  of  his  pleasure-grounds  constituted  a  borough,  and 
returned  two  members  to  parliament.  Lord  Doltimore,  just 
returned  from  the  Continent,  had  not  even  taken  his  seat  in 
the  Lords ;  and  though  his  family  connections,  such  as  they 
■were  —  and  they  were  not  very  high,  and  by  no  means  in  the 
fashion  —  were  ministerial,  his  own  opinions  were  as  yet 
unrevealed. 

To  this  young  nobleman  Lord  Vargrave  was  singularly 
attentive.  He  was  well  formed  to  attract  men  younger  than 
himself,  and  he  eminently  succeeded  in  his  designs  upon 
Lord  Doltimore 's  affection. 

His  lordship  was  a  small,  pale  man,  with  a  very  limited 
share  of  understanding,  supercilious  in  manner,  elaborate 
in  dress,  not  ill-natured  au  fond,  and  with  much  of  the  Eng- 
lish gentleman  in  his  disposition, — that  is,  he  was  honour- 
able in  his  ideas  and  actions,  whenever  his  natural  dulness 
and  neglected  education  enabled  him  clearly  to  perceive 
(through  the  midst  of  prejudices,  the  delusions  of  others, 
and  the  false  lights  of  the  dissipated  society  in  which  he  had 
lived)  what  was  right  and  what  wrong.  But  his  leading  char- 
acteristics were  vanity  and  conceit.  He  had  lived  much  with 
younger  sons,  cleverer  than  himself,  who  borrowed  his  money, 
sold  him  their  horses,  and  won  from  him  at  cards.  In  return 
they  gave  him  all  that  species  of  flattery  which  young  men 


116  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

can  give  with  so  hearty  an  appearance  of  cordial  admiration. 
*'  You  certainly  have  the  best  horses  in  Paris.  You  are  really 
a  devilish  good  fellow,  Doltimore.  Oh,  do  you  know,  Dolti- 
more,  what  little  D6sir6  says  of  you?  You  have  certainly 
turned  the  girl's  head." 

This  sort  of  adulation  from  one  sex  was  not  corrected  by 
any  great  acerbity  from  the  other.  Lord  Doltimore  at  the 
age  of  twenty-two  was  a  very  good  parti ;  and,  whatever  his 
other  deficiencies,  he  had  sense  enough  to  perceive  that  he 
received  much  greater  attention  —  whether  from  opera- 
dancers  in  search  of  a  friend,  or  virtuous  young  ladies  in 
search  of  a  husband  —  than  any  of  the  companions,  good- 
looking  though  many  of  them  were,  with  whom  he  had 
habitually  lived. 

"You  will  not  long  remain  in  town  now  the  season  is 
over?"  said  Vargrave,  as  after  dinner  he  found  himself,  by 
the  departure  of  the  ladies,  next  to  Lord  Doltimore. 

"No,  indeed;  even  in  the  season  I  don't  much  like  London. 
Paris  has  rather  spoiled  me  for  any  other  place." 

"Paris  is  certainly  very  charming;  the  ease  of  French 
life  has  a  fascination  that  our  formal  ostentation  wants. 
Nevertheless,  to  a  man  like  you,  London  must  have  many 
attractions." 

"Why,  I  have  a  good  many  friends  here;  but  still,  after 
Ascot,  it  rather  bores  me." 

"  Have  you  any  horses  on  the  turf?  " 

"  Not  yet ;  but  Legard  (you  know  Legard,  perhaps,  —  a  very 
good  fellow)  is  anxious  that  I  should  try  my  luck.  I  was 
very  fortunate  in  the  races  at  Paris  —  you  know  we  have 
established  racing  there.  The  French  take  to  it  quite 
naturally." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  been  in  Paris  — 
most  exciting  amusement!  A  propos  of  races,  I  am  going 
down  to  Lord  Raby's  to-morrow ;  I  think  I  saw  in  one  of  the 
morning  papers  that  you  had  very  largely  backed  a  horse 
entered  at  Knaresdean." 

"  Yes,  Thunderer  —  I  think  of  buying  Thunderer.  Legard 
—  Colonel  Legard  (he  was  in  the  Guards,  but  he  sold  out)  — 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  117 

is  a  good  judge,  and  recommends  the  purchase.  How  very 
odd  that  you  too  should  be  going  to  Knaresdean !  " 

"Odd,  indeed,  but  most  lucky!  We  can  go  together,  if  you 
are  not  better  engaged." 

Lord  Doltimore  coloured  and  hesitated.  On  the  one  hand 
he  was  a  little  afraid  of  being  alone  with  so  clever  a  man;  on 
the  other  hand,  it  was  an  honour,  —  it  was  something  for  him 
to  talk  of  to  Legard.  Nevertheless,  the  shyness  got  the  bet- 
ter of  the  vanity.  He  excused  himself;  he  feared  he  was 
engaged  to  take  down  Legard. 

Lumley  smiled,  and  changed  the  conversation;  and  so 
agreeable  did  he  make  himself,  that  when  the  party  broke 
up,  and  Lumley  had  just  shaken  hands  with  his  host,  Dolti- 
more came  to  him,  and  said  in  a  little  confusion,  — 

"  I  think  I  can  put  off  Legard  —  if  —  if  you  —  " 

"That's  delightful!  What  time  shall  we  start?  —  need  not 
get  down  much  before  dinner  —  one  o'clock?" 

"Oh,  yes!  not  too  long  before  dinner;  one  o'clock  will  be 
a  little  too  early." 

"  Two  then.     Where  are  you  staying?  " 

"AtFenton's." 

"I  will  call  for  you.  Good-night!  I  long  to  see 
Thunderer ! " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

La  sant^  de  I'&me  n'est  pas  plus  assur^e  que  celle  du  corps ;  et  quoique 
Ton  paraisse  floign^  des  passions,  on  n'est  pas  moins  en  danger  de  s'y 
laisser  emporter  que  de  tomber  malade  quand  on  se  porte  bien.^  —  La 
Rochefoucauld. 

In  spite  of  the  efforts  of  Maltravers  to  shun  all  occasions 
of  meeting  Evelyn,  they  were  necessarily  sometimes  thrown 
together  in  the  round  of  provincial  hospitalities;   and  cer- 

1  "  The  health  of  the  soul  is  not  more  sure  than  that  of  the  body ;  and 
although  we  may  appear  free  from  passions,  there  is  not  the  less  danger  of 
their  attack  than  of  falling  sick  at  the  moment  we  are  well." 


118  ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

tainly,  if  either  Mr.  Merton  or  Caroline  (the  shrewder 
observer  of  the  two)  had  ever  formed  any  suspicion  that 
Evelyn  had  made  a  conquest  of  Maltravers,  his  manner  at 
such  times  effectually  removed  it. 

Maltravers  was  a  man  to  feel  deeply,  but  no  longer  a  boy 
to  yield  to  every  tempting  impulse.  I  have  said  that  forti- 
tude was  his  favourite  virtue,  but  fortitude  is  the  virtue  of 
great  and  rare  occasions;  there  was  another,  equally  hard- 
favoured  and  unshowy,  which  he  took  as  the  staple  of  active 
and  every-day  duties,  and  that  virtue  was  justice.  Now, 
in  earlier  life,  he  had  been  enamoured  of  the  conventional 
Florimel  that  we  call  honour,  —  a  shifting  and  shadowy 
phantom,  that  is  but  the  reflex  of  the  opinion  of  the  time  and 
clime.  But  justice  has  in  it  something  permanent  and  solid; 
and  out  of  justice  arises  the  real  not  the  false  honour. 

"Honour! "  said  Maltravers,  — "honour  is  to  justice  as  the 
flower  to  the  plant,  —  its  efflorescence,  its  bloom,  its  consum- 
mation! But  honour  that  does  not  spring  from  justice  is 
but  a  piece  of  painted  rag,  an  artificial  rose,  which  the  men- 
milliners  of  society  would  palm  upon  us  as  more  natural 
than  the  true." 

This  principle  of  justice  Maltravers  sought  to  carry  out  in 
all  things  —  not,  perhaps,  with  constant  success;  for  what 
practice  can  always  embody  theory?  —  but  still,  at  least  his 
endeavour  at  success  was  constant.  This,  perhaps,  it  was 
which  had  ever  kept  him  from  the  excesses  to  which  exuber- 
ant and  liberal  natures  are  prone,  from  the  extravagances  of 
pseudo-genius. 

"No  man,  for  instance,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "can  be  em- 
barrassed in  his  own  circumstances,  and  not  cause  embarrass- 
ment to  others.  Without  economy,  who  can  be  just?  And 
what  are  charity,  generosity,  but  the  poetry  and  the  beauty 
of  justice?" 

No  man  ever  asked  Maltravers  twice  for  a  just  debt ;  and 
no  man  ever  once  asked  him  to  fulfil  a  promise.  You  felt 
that,  come  what  would,  you  might  rely  upon  his  word.  To 
him  might  have  been  applied  the  witty  eulogium  passed  by 
Johnson  upon  a  certain  nobleman:  "If  he  had  promised  you 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  119 

an  acorn,  and  the  acorn  season  failed  in  England,  he  would 
have  sent  to  Norway  for  one !  " 

It  was  not,  therefore,  the  mere  Norman  and  chivalrous 
spirit  of  honour,  which  he  had  worshipped  in  youth  as  a  part 
of  the  Beautiful  and  the  Becoming,  but  which  in  youth  had 
yielded  to  temptation,  as  a  sentiment  ever  must  yield  to  a 
passion,  but  it  was  the  more  hard,  stubborn,  and  reflective 
principle,  which  was  the  later  growth  of  deeper  and  nobler 
wisdom,  that  regulated  the  conduct  of  Maltravers  in  this 
crisis  of  his  life.  Certain  it  is,  that  he  had  never  but  once 
loved  as  he  loved  Evelyn ;  and  yet  that  he  never  yielded  so 
little  to  the  passion. 

"If  engaged  to  another,"  thought  he,  " that  engagement  it 
is  not  for  a  third  person  to  attempt  to  dissolve.  I  am  the  last 
to  form  a  right  judgment  of  the  strength  or  weakness  of 
the  bonds  which  unite  her  to  Vargrave,  for  my  emotions 
would  prejudice  me  despite  myself.  I  may  fancy  that  her 
betrothed  is  not  worthy  of  her,  —  but  that  is  for  her  to  de- 
cide. While  the  bond  lasts,  who  can  be  justified  in  tempting 
her  to  break  it?  " 

Agreeably  to  these  notions,  which  the  world  may,  perhaps, 
consider  overstrained,  whenever  Maltravers  met  Evelyn,  he 
intrenched  himself  in  a  rigid  and  almost  a  chilling  formality. 
How  difficult  this  was  with  one  so  simple  and  ingenuous! 
Poor  Evelyn !  she  thought  she  had  offended  him ;  she  longed 
to  ask  him  her  offence,  —  perhaps,  in  her  desire  to  rouse  his 
genius  into  exertion,  she  had  touched  some  secret  sore,  some 
latent  wound  of  the  memory?  She  recalled  all  their  conver- 
sations again  and  again.  Ah,  why  could  they  not  be  re- 
newed? Upon  her  fancy  and  her  thoughts  Maltravers  had 
made  an  impression  not  to  be  obliterated.  She  wrote  more 
frequently  than  ever  to  Lady  Vargrave,  and  the  name  of 
Maltravers  was  found  in  every  page  of  her  correspondence. 

One  evening,  at  the  house  of  a  neighbour,  Miss  Cameron 
(with  the  Mertons)  entered  the  room  almost  in  the  same 
instant  as  Maltravers.  The  party  was  small,  and  so  few  had 
yet  arrived  that  it  was  impossible  for  Maltravers,  without 
marked  rudeness,  to  avoid  his  friends  from  the  rectory;  and 


120  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Mrs.  Merton,  placing  herself  next  to  Evelyn,  graciously  mo- 
tioned to  Maltravers  to  occupy  the  third  vacant  seat  on  the 
sofa,  of  which  she  filled  the  centre. 

"  We  grudge  all  your  improvements,  Mr.  Maltravers,  since 
they  cost  us  your  society.  But  we  know  that  our  dull  circle 
must  seem  tame  to  one  who  has  seen  so  much.  However,  we 
expect  to  offer  you  an  inducement  soon  in  Lord  Vargrave. 
What  a  lively,  agreeable  person  he  is !  " 

Maltravers  raised  his  eyes  to  Evelyn,  calmly  and  penetrat- 
ingly, at  the  latter  part  of  this  speech.  He  observed  that 
she  turned  pale,  and  sighed  involuntarily. 

"He  had  great  spirits  when  I  knew  him,"  said  he;  "and 
he  had  then  less  cause  to  make  him  happy." 

Mrs.  Merton  smiled,  and  turned  rather  pointedly  towards 
Evelyn. 

Maltravers  continued,  "  I  never  met  the  late  lord.  He  had 
none  of  the  vivacity  of  his  nephew,  I  believe." 

"  I  have  heard  that  he  was  very  severe, "  said  Mrs.  Merton, 
lifting  her  glass  towards  a  party  that  had  just  entered. 

"Severe!"  exclaimed  Evelyn.  "Ah,  if  you  could  have 
known  him!  the  kindest,  the  most  indulgent  —  no  one  ever 
loved  me  as  he  did."     She  paused,  for  she  felt  her  lip  quiver. 

"1  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  coolly. 
Mrs.  Merton  had  no  idea  of  the  pain  inflicted  by  treading 
upon  a  feeling.  Maltravers  was  touched,  and  Mrs.  Merton 
went  on.  "  No  wonder  he  was  kind  to  you,  Evelyn,  —  a 
brute  would  be  that;  but  he  was  generally  considered  a  stern 
man." 

"I  never  saw  a  stern  look,  I  never  heard  a  harsh  word; 
nay,  I  do  not  remember  that  he  ever  even  used  the  word 
'  command, '  "  said  Evelyn,  almost  angrily. 

Mrs.  Merton  was  about  to  reply,  when  suddenly  seeing  a 
lady  whose  little  girl  had  been  ill  of  the  measles,  her  moth- 
erly thoughts  flowed  into  a  new  channel,  and  she  fluttered 
away  in  that  sympathy  which  unites  all  the  heads  of  a  grow- 
ing family.     Evelyn  and  Maltravers  were  left  alone. 

"You  do  not  remember  your  father,  I  believe?"  said 
Maltravers. 


ALICE ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  121 

"No  father  but  Lord  Vargrave;  while  he  lived,  I  never 
knew  the  loss  of  one." 

"Does  your  mother  resemble  you?" 

"Ah,  I  wish  I  could  think  so;  it  is  the  sweetest  counte- 
nance ! " 

"Have  you  no  picture  of  her?" 

"None;  she  would  never  consent  to  sit." 

"Your  father  was  a  Cameron;  I  have  known  some  of  that 
name." 

"No  relation  of  ours :  my  mother  says  we  have  none  living." 

"And  have  we  no  chance  of  seeing  Lady  Vargrave  in 
B shire?" 

"She  never  leaves  home;  but  I  hope  to  return  soon  to 
Brook-Green." 

Maltravers  sighed,  and  the  conversation  took  a  new  turn. 

"I  have  to  thank  you  for  the  books  you  so  kindly  sent;  I 
ought  to  have  returned  them  ere  this,"  said  Evelyn. 

"I  have  no  use  for  them.  Poetry  has  lost  its  charm  for 
me,  —  especially  that  species  of  poetry  which  unites  with  the 
method  and  symmetry  something  of  the  coldness  of  Art.  How 
did  you  like  Alfieri?  " 

"His  language  is  a  kind  of  Spartan  French,"  answered 
Evelyn,  in  one  of  those  happy  expressions  which  every  now 
and  then  showed  the  quickness  of  her  natural  talent. 

"Yes,"  said  Maltravers,  smiling,  "the  criticism  is  acute. 
Poor  Alfieri !  in  his  wild  life  and  his  stormy  passions  he  threw 
out  all  the  redundance  of  his  genius ;  and  his  poetry  is  but  the 
representative  of  his  thoughts,  not  his  emotions.  Happier 
the  man  of  genius  who  lives  upon  his  reason,  and  wastes  feel- 
ing only  on  his  verse !  " 

"You  do  not  think  that  we  waste  feeling  upon  human 
beings?"   said  Evelyn,  with  a  pretty  laugh. 

"  Ask  me  that  question  when  you  have  reached  my  years, 
and  can  look  upon  fields  on  which  you  have  lavished  your 
warmest  hopes,  your  noblest  aspirations,  your  tenderest  affec- 
tions, and  see  the  soil  all  profitless  and  barren.  *  Set  not 
your  heart  on  the  things  of  earth,'  saith  the  Preacher." 

Evelyn  was  affected  by  the  tone,  the  words,  and  the  melan- 


122  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

choly  countenance  of  the  speaker.  '*  You,  of  all  men,  ought 
not  to  think  thus,"  said  she,  with  a  sweet  eagerness;  "you 
who  have  done  so  much  to  awaken  and  to  soften  the  heart  in 
others;  you  —  who  — "  she  stopped  short,  and  added,  more 
gravely,  "  Ah,  Mr.  Maltravers,  I  cannot  reason  with  you,  but 
I  can  hope  you  will  refute  your  own  philosophy." 

"Were  your  wish  fulfilled,"  answered  Maltravers,  almost 
with  sternness,  and  with  an  expression  of  great  pain  in  his 
compressed  lips,  "  I  should  have  to  thank  you  for  much  mis- 
ery."    He  rose  abruptly,  and  turned  away. 

"How have  I  ofEended  him?"  thought  Evelyn,  sorrowfully; 
"  I  never  speak  but  to  wound  him.     What  have  I  done?  " 

She  could  have  wished,  in  her  simple  kindness,  to  follow 
him,  and  make  peace ;  but  he  was  now  in  a  coterie  of  stran- 
gers; and  shortly  afterwards  he  left  the  room,  and  she  did 
not  see  him  agaiij  for  weeks. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 
Nihil  est  alind  magnum  quam  multa  minuta.^  —  Vetus.  Auctob. 

An  anxious  event  disturbed  the  smooth  current  of  cheerful 
life  at  Merton  Eectory.  One  morning  when  Evelyn  came 
down,  she  missed  little  Sophy,  who  had  contrived  to  estab- 
lish for  herself  the  undisputed  privilege  of  a  stool  beside  Miss 
Cameron  at  breakfast.  Mrs.  Merton  appeared  with  a  graver 
face  than  usual.  Sophy  was  unwell,  was  feverish;  the  scar- 
let fever  had  been  in  the  neighbourhood.  Mrs.  Merton  was 
very  uneasy. 

"It  is  the  more  unlucky,  Caroline,"  added  the  mother, 
turning  to  Miss  Merton,  "because  to-morrow,  you  know,  we 
were  to  have  spent  a  few  days  at  Knaresdean  to  see  the  races. 
If  poor  Sophy  does  not  get  better,  I  fear  you  and  Miss  Came- 
ron must  go  without  me.  I  can  send  to  Mrs.  Hare  to  be  your 
chaperon;  she  would  be  delighted." 

1  "  There  is  nothing  so  great  as  the  collection  of  the  minute." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  123 

"Poor  Sophy!"  said  Caroline;  "I  am  very  sorry  to  hear 
she  is  unwell;  but  I  think  Taylor  would  take  great  care  of 
her;  you  surely  need  not  stay,  unless  she  is  much  worse." 

Mrs.  Merton,  who,  tame  as  she  seemed,  was  a  fond  and 
attentive  mother,  shook  her  head  and  said  nothing ;  but  Sophy 
was  much  worse  before  noon.  The  doctor  was  sent  for,  and 
pronounced  it  to  be  the  scarlet  fever. 

It  was  now  necessary  to  guard  against  the  infection.  Caro- 
line had  had  the  complaint,  and  she  willingly  shared  in  her 
mother's  watch  of  love  for  two  or  three  hours.  Mrs.  Merton 
gave  up  the  party.  Mrs.  Hare  (the  wife  of  a  rich  squire  in 
the  neighbourhood)  was  written  to,  and  that  lady  willingly 
agreed  to  take  charge  of  Caroline  and  her  friend. 

Sophy  had  been  left  asleep.  When  Mrs.  Merton  returned 
to  her  bed,  she  found  Evelyn  quietly  stationed  there.  This 
alarmed  her,  for  Evelyn  had  never  had  the  scarlet  fever,  and 
had  been  forbidden  the  sick-room.  But  poor  little  Sophy  had 
waked  and  querulously  asked  for  her  dear  Evy ;  and  Evy,  who 
had  been  hovering  round  the  room,  heard  the  inquiry  from 
the  garrulous  nurse,  and  come  in  she  would;  and  the  child 
gazed  at  her  so  beseechingly,  when  Mrs.  Merton  entered, 
and  said  so  piteously,  "Don't  take  Evy  away,"  that  Evelyn 
stoutly  declared  that  she  was  not  the  least  afraid  of  infec- 
tion, and  stay  she  must.  Nay,  her  share  in  the  nursing 
would  be  the  more  necessary  since  Caroline  was  to  go  to 
Knaresdean  the  next  day. 

"But  you  go  too,  my  dear  Miss  Cameron?  " 

"  Indeed  I  could  not.  I  don't  care  for  races,  I  never  wished 
to  go,  I  would  much  sooner  have  stayed;  and  I  am  sure 
Sophy  will  not  get  well  without  me, —  will  you,  dear?  " 

•'Oh,  yes,  yes;  if  I'm  to  keep  you  from  the  nice  races,  I 
should  be  worse  if  I  thought  that." 

"But  I  don't  like  the  nice  races,  Sophy,  as  yotir  sister 
Carry  does;  she  must  go, — they  can't  do  without  her;  but 
nobody  knows  me,  so  I  shall  not  be  missed." 

"I  can't  hear  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes ;  and  Evelyn  said  no  more  then.  But  the 
next  morning  Sophy  was  still  worse,  and  the  mother  was  too 


124  ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

anxious  and  too  sad  to  think  more  of  ceremony  and  politeness, 
so  Evelyn  stayed. 

A  momentary  pang  shot  across  Evelyn's  breast  when  all 
was  settled;  but  she  suppressed  the  sigh  which  accompanied 
the  thought  that  she  had  lost  the  only  opportunity  she  might 
have  for  weeks  of  seeing  Maltravers.  To  that  chance  she  had 
indeed  looked  forward  with  interest  and  timid  pleasure.  The 
chance  was  lost;  but  why  should  it  vex  her, —  what  was  he 
to  her? 

Caroline's  heart  smote  her,  as  she  came  into  the  room  in 
her  lilac  bonnet  and  new  dress;  and  little  Sophy,  turning  on 
her  eyes  which,  though  languid,  still  expressed  a  child's 
pleasure  at  the  sight  of  finery,  exclaimed,  "How  nice  and 
pretty  you  look.  Carry!  Do  take  Evy  with  you, —  Evy  looks 
pretty  too ! " 

I  Caroline  kissed  the  child  in  silence,  and  paused  irresolute ; 
glanced  at  her  dress,  and  then  at  Evelyn,  who  smiled  on  her 
without  a  thought  of  envy ;  and  she  had  half  a  mind  to  stay 
too,  when  her  mother  entered  with  a  letter  from  Lord  Var- 
grave.  It  was  short :  he  should  be  at  the  Knaresdean  races, 
hoped  to  meet  them  there,  and  accompany  them  home.  This 
information  re-decided  Caroline,  while  it  rewarded  Evelyn. 
In  a  few  minutes  more,  Mrs.  Hare  arrived;  and  Caroline, 
glad  to  escape,  perhaps,  her  own  compunction,  hurried  into 
the  carriage,  with  a  hasty  "God  bless  you  all!  Don't  fret  — 
I  'm  sure  she  will  be  well  to-morrow ;  and  mind,  Evelyn,  you 
don't  catch  the  fever!"  Mr.  Merton  looked  grave  and  sighed, 
as  he  handed  her  into  the  carriage;  but  when,  seated  there, 
she  turned  round  and  kissed  her  hand  at  him,  she  looked  so 
handsome  and  distinguished,  that  a  sentiment  of  paternal 
pride  smoothed  down  his  vexation  at  her  want  of  feeling.  He 
himself  gave  up  the  visit ;  but  a  little  time  after,  when  Sophy 
fell  into  a  tranquil  sleep,  he  thought  he  might  venture  to 
canter  across  the  country  to  the  race-ground,  and  return  to 
dinner. 

Days  —  nay,  a  whole  week  passed,  the  races  were  over,  but 
Caroline  had  not  returned.     Meanwhile,  Sophy's  fever  left 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  126 

her;  she  could  quit  her  bed,  her  room;  she  could  come  down- 
stairs now,  and  the  family  was  happy.  It  is  astonishing  how 
the  least  ailment  in  those  little  things  stops  the  wheels  of 
domestic  life !  Evelyn  fortunately  had  not  caught  the  fever : 
she  was  pale,  and  somewhat  reduced  by  fatigue  and  confine- 
ment; but  she  was  amply  repaid  by  the  mother's  swimming 
look  of  quiet  gratitude,  the  father's  pressure  of  the  hand, 
Sophy's  recovery,  and  her  own  good  heart.  They  had  heard 
twice  from  Caroline,  putting  off  her  return :  Lady  Raby  was 
so  kind,  she  could  not  get  away  till  the  party  broke  up;  she 
was  so  glad  to  hear  such  an  account  of  Sophy. 

Lord  Vargrave  had  not  yet  arrived  at  the  rectory  to  stay ; 
but  he  had  twice  ridden  over,  and  remained  there  some  hours. 
He  exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  please  Evelyn ;  and  she 
—  who,  deceived  by  his  manners,  and  influenced  by  the  recol- 
lections of  long  and  familiar  acquaintance,  was  blinded  to  his 
real  character  —  reproached  herself  more  bitterly  than  ever 
for  her  repugnance  to  his  suit  and  her  ungrateful  hesitation 
to  obey  the  wishes  of  her  stepfather. 

To  the  Mertons,  Lumley  spoke  with  good-natured  praise  of 
Caroline;  she  was  so  much  admired;  she  was  the  beauty  at 
Knaresdean.  A  certain  young  friend  of  his.  Lord  Dolti- 
more,  was  evidently  smitten.  The  parents  thought  much 
over  the  ideas  conjured  up  by  that  last  sentence. 

One  morning,  the  garrulous  Mrs.  Hare,  the  gossip  of  the 
neighbourhood,  called  at  the  rectory;  she  had  returned,  two 
days  before,  from  Knaresdean ;  and  she,  too,  had  her  tale  to 
tell  of  Caroline's  conquests. 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Merton,  if  we  had  not  all 
known  that  his  heart  was  pre-occupied,  we  should  have 
thought  that  Lord  Vargrave  was  her  warmest  admirer.  Most 
charming  man,  Lord  Vargrave !  but  as  for  Lord  Doltimore,  it 
was  quite  a  flirtation.  Excuse  me:  no  scandal,  you  know, 
ha,  ha!  a  fine  young  man,  but  stiff  and  reserved, —  not  the 
fascination  of  Lord  Vargrave." 

"  Does  Lord  Raby  return  to  town,  or  is  he  now  at  Knares- 
dean for  the  autumn?  " 

"  He  goes  on  Friday,  I  believe :  very  few  of  the  guests  are 


126  ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

left  now.  Lady  A.  and  Lord  B.,  and  Lord  Vargrave  and 
your  daughter,  and  Mr.  Legard  and  Lord  Doltimore,  and  Mrs. 
and  the  Misses  Cipher;  all  the  rest  went  the  same  day  I 
did." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Merton,  in  some  surprise. 

"  Ah,  I  read  your  thoughts :  you  wonder  that  Miss  Caroline 
has  not  come  back, —  is  not  that  it?  But  perhaps  Lord  Dolti- 
more —  ha,  ha! —  no  scandal  now  —  do  excuse  me  !  " 

"Was  Mr.  Maltravers  at  Knaresdean?"  asked  Mrs.  Mer- 
ton, anxious  to  change  the  subject,  and  unprepared  with  any 
other  question.  Evelyn  was  cutting  out  a  paper  horse  for 
Sophy,  who  —  all  her  high  spirits  flown  —  was  lying  on  the 
sofa,  and  wistfully  following  her  fairy  fingers.  "Naughty 
Evy,  you  have  cut  off  the  horse's  head!" 

"Mr.  Maltravers?  No,  I  think  not;  no,  he  was  not  there. 
Lord  Raby  asked  him  pointedly  to  come,  and  was,  I  know, 
much  disappointed  that  he  did  not.  But  a  propos  of  Mr. 
Maltravers:  I  met  him  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  this 
morning,  as  I  was  coming  to  you.  You  know  we  have  leave 
to  come  through  his  park,  and  as  I  was  in  the  park  at  the 
time,  I  stopped  the  carriage  to  speak  to  him.  I  told  him  that 
I  was  coming  here,  and  that  you  had  had  the  scarlet  fever  in 
the  house,  which  was  the  reason  you  had  not  gone  to  the 
races;  and  he  turned  quite  pale,  and  seemed  so  alarmed.  I 
said  we  were  all  afraid  that  Miss  Cameron  should  catch  it; 
and,  excuse  me  —  ah,  ah!  —  no  scandal,  I  hope  —  but  —  " 

"Mr.  Maltravers,"  said  the  butler,  throwing  open  the  door. 

Maltravers  entered  with  a  quick  and  even  a  hurried  step. 
He  stopped  short  when  he  saw  Evelyn ;  and  his  whole  coun- 
tenance was  instantly  lightened  up  by  a  joyous  expression, 
which  as  suddenly  died  away. 

"  This  is  kind,  indeed, "  said  Mrs.  Merton ;  "  it  is  so  long 
since  we  have  seen  you." 

"I  have  been  very  much  occupied,"  muttered  Maltravers, 
almost  inaudibly,  and  seated  himself  next  Evelyn.  "  I  only 
just  heard  —  that  —  that  you  had  sickness  in  the  house. 
Miss  Cameron,  you  look  pale  —  you  —  you  have  not  suffered, 
I  hope?  " 


ALICE;   OR,  THE   MYSTERIES.  127 

"No,  I  am  quite  well,"  said  Evelyn,  with  a  smile;  and  she 
felt  happy  that  her  friend  was  kind  to  her  once  more. 

"It's  only  me,  Mr.  Ernest,"  said  Sophy;  "you  have  for- 
got me." 

Maltravers  hastened  to  vindicate  himself  from  the  charge, 
and  Sophy  and  he  were  soon  made  excellent  friends  again. 

Mrs.  Hare,  whom  surprise  at  this  sudden  meeting  had 
hitherto  silenced,  and  who  longed  to  shape  into  elegant  peri- 
phrasis the  common  adage,  "Talk  of,"  etc.,  now  once  more 
opened  her  budget.  She  tattled  on,  first  to  one,  then  to  the 
other,  then  to  all,  till  she  had  tattled  herself  out  of  breath ; 
and  then  the  orthodox  half-hour  was  expired,  and  the  bell 
was  rung,  and  the  carriage  ordered,  and  Mrs.  Hare  rose  to 
depart. 

"Do  just  come  to  the  door,  Mrs.  Merton,"  said  she,  "and 
look  at  my  pony-phaeton,  it  is  so  pretty;  Lady  Raby  admires 
it  so  much;  you  ought  to  have  just  such  another."  As  she 
spoke,  she  favoured  Mrs.  Merton  with  a  significant  glance, 
that  said,  as  plainly  as  glance  could  say,  "  I  have  something 
to  communicate."  Mrs.  Merton  took  the  hint,  and  followed 
the  good  lady  out  of  the  room. 

"Do  you  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Merton,"  said  Mrs.  Hare,  in 
a  whisper,  when  they  were  safe  in  the  billiard-room,  that  in- 
terposed between  the  apartment  they  had  left  and  the  hall; 
"do  you  know  whether  Lord  Vargrave  and  Mr.  Maltravers 
are  very  good  friends?  " 

"No,  indeed;  why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Oh,  because  when  I  was  speaking  to  Lord  Vargrave  about 
him,  he  shook  his  head;  and  really  I  don't  remember  what 
his  lordship  said,  but  he  seemed  to  speak  as  if  there  was  a 
little  soreness.  And  then  he  inquired  very  anxiously  if  Mr. 
Maltravers  was  much  at  the  rectory;  and  looked  discomposed 
when  he  found  you  were  such  near  neighbours.  You  '11  excuse 
me,  you  know  —  ha,  ha!  but  we  're  such  old  friends!  —  and  if 
Lord  Vargrave  is  coming  to  stay  here,  it  might  be  unpleasant 
to  meet  —  you  '11  excuse  me.  I  took  the  liberty  to  tell  him  he 
need  not  be  jealous  of  Mr.  Maltravers  —  ha,  ha!  —  not  a  mar- 
rying man  at  all.     But  I  did  think  Miss  Caroline  was  the 


128  ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES. 

attraction  —  you'll  excuse  me  —  na  scandal  —  ha,  ha!  But, 
after  all,  Lord  Doltimore  must  be  the  man.  Well,  good 
morning,  I  thought  I  'd  just  give  you  this  hint.  Is  not  the 
phaeton  pretty?     Kind  compliments  to  Mr.  Merton." 

And  the  lady  drove  off. 

During  this  confabulation,  Maltravers  and  Evelyn  were 
left  alone  with  Sophy.  Maltravers  had  continued  to  lean 
over  the  child,  and  appeared  listening  to  her  prattle ;  while 
Evelyn,  having  risen  to  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Hare,  did  not 
reseat  herself,  but  went  to  the  window,  and  busied  herself 
with  a  flowerstand  in  the  recess. 

"Oh,  very  fine,  Mr.  Ernest,"  said  Sophy  (always  pronounc- 
ing that  proper  name  as  if  it  ended  in  th),  "you  care  very 
much  for  us  to  stay  away  so  long, —  don't  he,  Evy?  I  've  a 
great  mind  not  to  speak  to  you,  sir,  that  I  have!  " 

"That  would  be  too  heavy  a  punishment.  Miss  Sophy, — 
only,  luckily,  it  would  punish  yourself;  you  could  not  live 
without  talking  —  talk  —  talk  —  talk !  " 

"But  I  might  never  have  talked  more,  Mr.  Ernest,  if 
Mamma  and  pretty  Evy  had  not  been  so  kind  to  me;  "  and 
the  child  shook  her  head  mournfully,  as  if  she  had  pitie  de 
soi-meme.  But  you  won't  stay  away  so  long  again,  will  you? 
Sophy  play  to-morrow;  come  to-morrow,  and  swing  Sophy; 
no  nice  swinging  since  you 've  been  gone." 

While  Sophy  spoke  Evelyn  turned  half  round,  as  if  to  hear 
Maltravers  answer;  he  hesitated,  and  Evelyn  spoke. 

"You  must  not  tease  Mr.  Maltravers  so;  Mr.  Maltravers 
has  too  much  to  do  to  come  to  us." 

Now  this  was  a  very  pettish  speech  in  Evelyn,  and  her 
cheek  glowed  while  she  spoke;  but  an  arch,  provoking  smile 
was  on  her  lips. 

"  It  can  be  a  privation  only  to  me,  Miss  Cameron,"  said  Mal- 
travers, rising,  and  attempting  in  vain  to  resist  the  impulse 
that  drew  him  towards  the  window.  The  reproach  in  her  tone 
and  words  at  once  pained  and  delighted  him ;  and  then  this 
scene,  the  suffering  child,  brought  back  to  him  his  first  inter- 
view with  Evelyn  herself.  He  forgot,  for  the  moment,  the 
lapse  of  time,  the  new  ties  she  had  formed,  his  own  resolutions. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES.  129 

"That  is  a  bad  compliment  to  us,"  answered  Evelyn,  in- 
genuously J  "  do  you  think  we  are  so  little  worthy  your  society 
as  not  to  value  it?  But,  perhaps "  (she  added,  sinking  her 
voice)  "  perhaps  you  have  been  offended  —  perhaps  I  —  I  — 
said  —  something  that  —  that  hurt  you !  " 

"  You  I  "  repeated  Maltravers,  with  emotion. 

Sophy,  who  had  been  attentively  listening,  here  put  in, 
"  Shake  hands  and  make  it  up  with  Evy  —  you  've  been  quar- 
relling, naughty  Ernest!  " 

Evelyn  laughed,  and  tossed  back  her  sunny  ringlets.  "  I 
think  Sophy  is  right,"  said  she,  with  enchanting  simpli- 
city; "let  us  make  it  up,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
Maltravers. 

Maltravers  pressed  the  fair  hand  to  his  lips.  "Alas!  "  said 
he,  affected  with  various  feelings  which  gave  a  tremor  to  his 
deep  voice,  "your  only  fault  is  that  your  society  makes  me 
discontented  with  my  solitary  home ;  and  as  solitude  must  be 
my  fate  in  life,  I  seek  to  inure  myself  to  it  betimes." 

Here  —  whether  opportunely  or  not,  it  is  for  the  reader  to 
decide  —  Mrs.  Merton  returned  to  the  room. 

She  apologized  for  her  absence,  talked  of  Mrs.  Hare  and 
the  little  Master  Hares, —  fine  boys,  but  noisy;  and  then  she 
asked  Maltravers  if  he  had  seen  Lord  Vargrave  since  his  lord- 
ship had  been  in  the  county.  Maltravers  replied,  with  cold- 
ness, that  he  had  not  had  that  honour:  that  Vargrave  had 
called  on  him  in  his  way  from  the  rectory  the  other  day,  but 
that  he  was  from  home,  and  that  he  had  not  seen  him  for 
some  years. 

"He  is  a  person  of  most  prepossessing  manners,"  said  Mrs. 
Merton. 

"Certainly, —  most  prepossessing." 

"And  very  clever." 

"He  has  great  talents." 

"  He  seems  most  amiable." 

Maltravers  bowed,  and  glanced  towards  Evelyn,  whose 
face,  however,  was  turned  from  him. 

The  turn  the  conversation  had  taken  was  painful  to  the 
visitor,  and  he  rose  to  depart. 

9 


ISO  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  "you  will  meet  Lord  Var- 
grave  at  dinner  to-morrow;  he  will  stay  with  us  a  few  days, 

as  long  as  he  can  be  spared." 

Maltravers  meet  Lord  Vargrave !  the  happy  Vargrave,  the 
betrothed  to  Evelyn !  Maltravers  witness  the  familiar  rights, 
the  enchanting  privileges,  accorded  to  another !  and  that  other 
one  whom  he  could  not  believe  worthy  of  Evelyn!  He  writhed 
at  the  picture  the  invitation  conjured  up. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  my  dear  Mrs.  Merton,  but  I  expect  a 
visitor  at  Burleigh,  — an  old  and  dear  friend,  Mr.  Cleveland." 

"Mr.  Cleveland!  —  we  shall  be  delighted  to  see  him  too. 
We  knew  him  many  years  ago,  during  your  minority,  when 
he  used  to  visit  Burleigh  two  or  three  times  a  year." 

"He  is  changed  since  then;  he  is  often  an  invalid.  I  fear 
I  cannot  answer  for  him;  but  he  will  call  as  soon  as  he 
arrives,  and  apologize  for  himself." 

Maltravers  then  hastily  took  his  departure.  He  would  not 
trust  himself  to  do  more  than  bow  distantly  to  Evelyn ;  she 
looked  at  him  reproachfully.  So,  then,  it  was  really  pre- 
meditated and  resolved  upon  —  his  absence  from  the  rectory ; 
and  why?  She  was  grieved,  she  was  offended  —  but  more 
grieved  than  offended,  —  perhaps  because  esteem,  interest, 
admiration,  are  more  tolerant  and  charitable  than  love. 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

Arethusa.    T  is  well,  my  lord,  yonr  courting  of  ladies. 

Claremont.  Sure  this  lady  has  a  good  turn  done  her  against  her  will. 

Philaster. 

In  the  breakfast-room  at  Knaresdean,  the  same  day,  and 
almost  at  the  same  hour,  in  which  occurred  the  scene  and 
conversation  at  the  rectory  recorded  in  our  last  chapter,  sat 
Lord  Vargrave  and  Caroline  alone.  The  party  had  dis- 
persed, as  was  usual,  at  noon.     They  heard  at  a  distance 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  131 

the  sounds  of  the  billiard-balls.  Lord  Doltimore  was  playing 
with  Colonel  Legard,  one  of  the  best  players  in  Europe,  but 
who,  fortunately  for  Doltimore,  had  of  late  made  it  a  rule 
never  to  play  for  money.  Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Cipher,  and 
most  of  the  guests,  were  in  the  billiard-room  looking  on. 
Lady  Raby  was  writing  letters,  and  Lord  Raby  riding  over 
his  home  farm.  Caroline  and  Lumley  had  been  for  some 
time  in  close  and  earnest  conversation.  Miss  Merton  was 
seated  in  a  large  armchair,  much  moved,  with  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes.  Lord  Vargrave,  with  his  back  to  the 
chimney-piece,  was  bending  down  and  speaking  in  a  very 
low  voice,  while  his  quick  eye  glanced,  ever  and  anon,  from 
the  lady's  countenance  to  the  windows,  to  the  doors,  to  be 
prepared  against  any  interruption. 

"No,  my  dear  friend,"  said  he,  "believe  me  that  I  am  sin- 
cere. My  feelings  for  you  are,  indeed,  such  as  no  words  can 
paint." 

"Then  why  —  " 

"Why  wish  you  wedded  to  another;  why  wed  another 
myself?  Caroline,  I  have  often  before  explained  to  you  that 
we  are  in  this  the  victims  of  an  inevitable  fate.  It  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  that  I  should  wed  Miss  Cameron.  I  never 
deceived  you  from  the  first.  I  should  have  loved  her,  —  my 
heart  would  have  accompanied  my  hand,  but  for  your  too 
seductive  beauty,  your  superior  mind!  —  yes,  Caroline,  your 
mind  attracted  me  more  than  your  beauty.  Your  mind  seemed 
kindred  to  my  own,  —  inspired  with  the  proper  and  wise  ambi- 
tion which  regards  the  fools  of  the  world  as  puppets,  as  coun- 
ters, as  chessmen.  For  myself,  a  very  angel  from  heaven 
could  not  make  me  give  up  the  great  game  of  life,  yield  to 
my  enemies,  slip  from  the  ladder,  unravel  the  web  I  have 
woven!  Share  my  heart,  my  friendship,  my  schemes!  this 
is  the  true  and  dignified  affection  that  should  exist  between 
minds  like  ours;  all  the  rest  is  the  prejudice  of  children." 

"Vargrave,  I  am  ambitious,  worldly:  I  own  it;  but  I  could 
give  up  all  for  you !  " 

"You  think  so,  for  you  do  not  know  the  sacrifice.  You  see 
me  now  apparently  rich,  in  power,  courted;  and  this  fate  you 


182  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

are  willing  to  share;  and  this  fate  you  should  share,  were  it 
the  real  one  I  could  bestow  on  you.  But  reverse  the  medal. 
Deprived  of  office,  fortune  gone,  debts  pressing,  destitution 
notorious,  the  ridicule  of  embarrassments,  the  disrepute 
attached  to  poverty  and  defeated  ambition,  an  exile  in  some 
foreign  town  on  the  poor  pension  to  which  alone  I  should  be 
entitled,  a  mendicant  on  the  public  purse;  and  that,  too,  so 
eaten  into  by  demands  and  debts,  that  there  is  not  a  grocer  in 
the  next  market-town  who  would  envy  the  income  of  the  re- 
tired minister!  Eetire,  fallen,  despised,  in  the  prime  of  life, 
in  the  zenith  of  my  hopes !  Suppose  that  I  could  bear  this  for 
myself,  could  I  bear  it  for  you?  You,  born  to  be  the  ornament 
of  courts !  And  you  —  could  you  see  me  thus  —  life  embittered, 
career  lost  —  and  feel,  generous  as  you  are,  that  your  love  had 
entailed  on  me,  on  us  both,  on  our  children,  this  miserable  lot ! 
Impossible,  Caroline!  we  are  too  wise  for  such  romance.  It  is 
not  because  we  love  too  little,  but  because  our  love  is  worthy 
of  each  other,  that  we  disdain  to  make  love  a  curse!  We  can- 
not wrestle  against  the  world,  but  we  may  shake  hands  with 
it,  and  worm  the  miser  out  of  its  treasures.  My  heart  must 
be  ever  yours;  my  hand  must  be  Miss  Cameron's.  Money  I 
must  have,  —  my  whole  career  depends  on  it.  It  is  literally 
with  me  the  highwayman's  choice,  — money  or  life." 

Vargrave  paused,  and  took  Caroline's  hand. 

"I  cannot  reason  with  you,"  said  she;  "you  know  the 
strange  empire  you  have  obtained  over  me,  and,  certainly, 
in  spite  of  all  that  has  passed  (and  Caroline  turned  pale)  I 
could  bear  anything  rather  than  that  you  should  hereafter  re- 
proach me  for  selfish  disregard  of  your  interests,  — your  just 
ambition." 

"  My  noble  friend !  I  do  not  say  that  I  shall  not  feel  a  deep 
and  sharp  pang  at  seeing  you  wed  another;  but  I  shall  be 
consoled  by  the  thought  that  I  have  assisted  to  procure  for 
you  a  station  worthier  of  your  merits  than  that  which  I  can 
offer.  Lord  Doltimore  is  rich, — you  will  teach  him  to  em- 
ploy his  riches  well;  he  is  weak,  — your  intellect  will  govern 
him;  he  is  in  love,  — your  beauty  will  suffice  to  preserve  his 
regard.     Ah,  we  shall  be  dear  friends  to  the  last! " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES.  133 

More  —  but  to  the  same  effect  —  did  this  able  and  crafty 
villain  continue  to  address  to  Caroline,  whom  he  alternately 
soothed,  irritated,  flattered,  and  revolted.  Love  him  she  cer- 
tainly did,  as  far  as  love  in  her  could  extend ;  but  perhaps  his 
rank,  his  reputation,  had  served  to  win  her  affection;  and, 
not  knowing  his  embarrassments,  she  had  encouraged  a 
worldly  hope  that  if  Evelyn  should  reject  his  hand  it  might 
be  offered  to  her.  Under  this  impression  she  had  trifled,  she 
had  coquetted,  she  had  played  with  the  serpent  till  it  had 
coiled  around  her;  and  she  could  not  escape  its  fascination 
and  its  folds.  She  was  sincere,  —  she  could  have  resigned 
much  for  Lord  Vargrave;  but  his  picture  startled  and  ap- 
palled her.  For  difficulties  in  a  palace  she  might  be  prepared; 
perhaps  even  for  some  privations  in  a  cottage  ornee,  —  but  cer- 
tainly not  for  penury  in  a  lodging-house!  She  listened  by 
degrees  with  more  attention  to  Vargrave's  description  of  the 
power  and  homage  that  would  be  hers  if  she  could  secure  Lord 
Doltimore:  she  listened,  and  was  in  part  consoled.  But  the 
thought  of  Evelyn  again  crossed  her;  and  perhaps  with  natu- 
ral jealousy  was  mingled  some  compunction  at  the  fate  to 
which  Lord  Vargrave  thus  coldly  appeared  to  condemn  one 
so  lovely  and  so  innocent. 

"But  do  not,  Vargrave,"  she  said,  "do  not  be  too  sanguine; 
Evelyn  may  reject  you.  She  does  not  see  you  with  my  eyes; 
it  is  only  a  sense  of  honour  that,  as  yet,  forbids  her  openly  to 
refuse  the  fulfilment  of  an  engagement  from  which  T  know 
that  she  shrinks;  and  if  she  does  refuse,  and  you  be  free,  — 
and  I  another's  —  " 

"Even  in  that  case,"  interrupted  Vargrave,  "I  must  turn 
to  the  Golden  Idol;  my  rank  and  name  must  buy  me  an  heir- 
ess, if  not  so  endowed  as  Evelyn,  wealthy  enough,  at  least,  to 
take  from  my  wheels  the  drag-chain  of  disreputable  debt. 
But  Evelyn  —  I  will  not  doubt  of  her!  her  heart  is  still 
unoccupied ! " 

"True;  as  yet  her  affections  are  not  engaged." 

"  And  this  Maltravers  —  she  is  romantic,  T  fancy  —  did  he 
seem  captivated  by  her  beauty  or  her  fortune?  " 

"No,  indeed,  I  think  not;  he  has  been  very  little  with  us 


134  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

of  late.  He  talked  to  her  more  as  to  a  child,  — there  is  a  dis- 
parity of  years." 

"  I  am  many  years  older  than  Maltravers, "  muttered  Var- 
grave,  moodily. 

"  You  —  but  your  manner  is  livelier,  and,  therefore, 
younger ! " 

"Fair  flatterer!  Maltravers  does  not  love  me:  1  fear  his 
report  of  my  character  —  " 

"I  never  heard  him  speak  of  you,  Vargrave;  and  I  will  do 
Evelyn  the  justice  to  say,  that  precisely  as  she  does  not  love 
she  esteems  and  respects  you." 

"Esteems!  respects!  these  are  the  feelings  for  a  prudent 
Hymen,"  said  Vargrave,  with  a  smile.  "But,  hark!  I  don't 
hear  the  billiard-balls ;  they  may  find  us  here,  —  we  had  better 
separate. " 

Lord  Vargrave  lounged  into  the  billiard-room.  The  young 
men  had  just  finished  playing,  and  were  about  to  visit  Thun- 
derer, who  had  won  the  race,  and  was  now  the  property  of 
Lord  Doltimore. 

Vargrave  accompanied  them  to  the  stables;  and  after  con- 
cealing his  ignorance  of  horseflesh  as  well  as  he  could,  beneath 
a  profusion  of  compliments  on  fore-hand,  hind-quarters,  breed- 
ing, bone,  substance,  and  famous  points,  he  contrived  to  draw 
Doltimore  into  the  courtyard,  while  Colonel  Legard  remained 
in  converse  high  with  the  head  groom. 

"Doltimore,  I  leave  Knaresdean  to-morrow;  'you  go  to 
London,  I  suppose?  Will  you  take  a  little  packet  for  me  to 
the  Home  Office?" 

"Certainly,  when  I  go;  but  I  think  of  staying  a  few  days 
with  Legard's  uncle  —  the  old  admiral;  he  has  a  hunting- 
box  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  has  asked  us  both  over." 

"  Oh,  I  can  detect  the  attraction ;  but  certainly  it  is  a  fair  one, 
—  the  handsomest  girl  in  the  county;  pity  she  has  no  money." 

"T  don't  care  for  money,"  said  Lord  Doltimore,  colouring, 
and  settling  his  chin  in  his  neckcloth;  "but  you  are  mis- 
taken i  I  have  no  thoughts  that  way.  Miss  Merton  is  a  very 
fine  girl,  but  I  doubt  much  if  she  cares  for  me.     I  would 


ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  185 

never  marry  any  woman  who  was  not  very  much  in  love  with 
me."     And  Lord  Doltimore  laughed  rather  foolishly. 

"You  are  more  modest  than  clear-sighted,"  said  Vargrave, 
smiling;  "  but  mark  my  words,  —  I  predict  that  the  beauty  of 
next  season  will  be  a  certain  Caroline  Lady  Doltimore." 

The  conversation  dropped. 

"I  think  that  will  be  settled  well,"  said  Vargrave  to  him- 
self, as  he  was  dressing  for  dinner.  "Caroline  will  manage 
Doltimore,  and  I  shall  manage  one  vote  in  the  Lords  and  three 
in  the  Commons.  I  have  already  talked  him  into  proper  poli- 
tics ;  a  trifle  all  this,  to  be  sure :  but  I  had  nothing  else  to 
amuse  me,  and  one  must  never  lose  an  occasion.  Besides, 
Doltimore  is  rich,  and  rich  friends  are  always  useful.  I  have 
Caroline,  too,  in  my  power,  and  she  may  be  of  service  with 
respect  to  this  Evelyn,  who,  instead  of  loving,  I  half  hate: 
she  has  crossed  my  path,  robbed  me  of  wealth;  and  now,  if 
she  does  refuse  me  —  but  no,  I  will  not  think  of  that !  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Out  of  our  reach  the  gods  have  laid 

Of  time  to  come  the  event  ; 
And  laugh  to  see  the  fools  afraid 

Of  what  the  knaves  invent.  —  Sedlkt, /rom  Lycophron. 

The  next  day  Caroline  returned  to  the  rectory  in  Lady 
Raby's  carriage;  and  two  hours  after  her  arrival  came  Lord 
Vargrave.  Mr.  Merton  had  secured  the  principal  persons  in 
the  neighbourhood  to  meet  a  guest  so  distinguished,  and  Lord 
Vargrave,  bent  on  shining  in  the  eyes  of  Evelyn,  charmed  all 
with  his  affability  and  wit.  Evelyn,  he  thought,  seemed 
pale  and  dispirited.  He  pertinaciously  devoted  himself  to 
her  all  the  evening.  Her  ripening  understanding  was  better 
able  than  heretofore  to  appreciate  his  abilities ;  yet,  inwardly, 
she  drew  comparisons  between  his  conversation  and  that  of 


136  ALICE  ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Maltravers,  not  to  the  advantage  of  the  former.  There  was 
much  that  amused  but  nothing  that  interested  in  Lord  Var- 
grave's  fluent  ease.  When  he  attempted  sentiment,  the  vein 
was  hard  and  hollow ;  he  was  only  at  home  on  worldly  topics. 
Caroline's  spirits  were,  as  usual  in  society,  high,  but  her 
laugh  seemed  forced,  and  her  eye  absent. 

The  next  day,  after  breakfast.  Lord  Vargrave  walked  alone 
to  Burleigh.  As  he  crossed  the  copse  that  bordered  the  park, 
a  large  Persian  greyhound  sprang  towards  him,  barking 
loudly;  and,  lifting  his  eyes,  he  perceived  the  form  of  a 
man  walking  slowly  along  one  of  the  paths  that  intersected 
the  wood.  He  recognized  Maltravers.  They  had  not  till 
then  encountered  since  their  meeting  a  few  weeks  before 
Florence's  death;  and  a  pang  of  conscience  came  across  the 
schemer's  cold  heart.  Years  rolled  away  from  the  past;  he 
recalled  the  young,  generous,  ardent  man,  whom,  ere  the  char- 
acter or  career  of  either  had  been  developed,  he  had  called 
his  friend.  He  remembered  their  wild  adventures  and  gay 
follies,  in  climes  where  they  had  been  all  in  all  to  each  other ; 
and  the  beardless  boy,  whose  heart  and  purse  were  ever  open 
to  him,  and  to  whose  very  errors  of  youth  and  inexperienced 
passion  he,  the  elder  and  the  wiser,  had  led  and  tempted, 
rose  before  him  in  contrast  to  the  grave  and  melancholy  air  of 
the  baffled  and  solitary  man,  who  now  slowly  approached  him, 
—  the  man  whose  proud  career  he  had  served  to  thwart,  whose 
heart  his  schemes  had  prematurely  soured,  whose  best  years 
had  been  consumed  in  exile,  — a  sacrifice  to  the  grave  which 
a  selfish  and  dishonourable  villany  had  prepared!  Cesarini, 
the  inmate  of  a  mad-house,  Florence  in  her  shroud,  —  such 
were  the  visions  the  sight  of  Maltravers  conjured  up.  And 
to  the  soul  which  the  unwonted  and  momentary  remorse  awak- 
ened, a  boding  voice  whispered,  "  And  thinkest  thou  that  thy 
schemes  shall  prosper,  and  thy  aspirations  succeed?  "  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  the  unimaginative  Vargrave 
felt  the  mystery  of  a  presentiment  of  warning  and  of  evil. 

The  two  men  met,  and  with  an  emotion  which  seemed  that 
of  honest  and  real  feeling,  Lumley  silently  held  out  his  hand, 
and  half  turned  away  his  head. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  137 

"Lord  Vargrave ! "  said  Maltravers,  with  an  equal  agitation, 
"it  is  long  since  we  have  encountered." 

"  Long,  —  very  long, "  answered  Lumley,  striving  hard  to 
regain  his  self-possession;  "years  have  changed  us  both;  but 
I  trust  it  has  still  left  in  you,  as  it  has  in  me,  the  remem- 
brance of  our  old  friendship." 

Maltravers  was  silent,  and  Lord  Vargrave  continued,  — 

"  You  do  not  answer  me,  Maltravers.  Can  political  differ- 
ences, opposite  pursuits,  or  the  mere  lapse  of  time,  have 
sufficed  to  create  an  irrevocable  gulf  between  us?  Why  may 
we  not  be  friends  again?" 

"  Friends !  "  echoed  Maltravers ;  "  at  our  age  that  word  is 
not  so  lightly  spoken,  that  tie  is  not  so  unthinkingly  formed, 
as  when  we  were  younger  men." 

"But  may  not  the  old  tie  be  renewed?" 

"  Our  ways  in  life  are  different ;  and  were  I  to  scan  your 
motives  ^/Ud  career  with  the  scrutinizing  eyes  of  friendship,  it 
might  only  serve  to  separate  us  yet  more.  I  am  sick  of  the 
great  juggle  of  ambition,  and  I  have  no  sympathy  left  for  those 
who  creep  into  the  pint-bottle,  or  swallow  the  naked  sword." 

"  If  you  despise  the  exhibition,  why,  then,  let  us  laugh  at 
it  together,  for  I  am  as  cynical  as  yourself." 

"Ah,"  said  Maltravers  with  a  smile,  half  mournful,  half 
bitter,  "but  are  you  not  one  of  the  Impostors?" 

"  Who  ought  better  to  judge  of  the  Eleusiniana  than  one  of 
the  Initiated?  But  seriously,  why  on  earth  should  political 
differences  part  private  friendship?  Thank  Heaven!  such 
has  never  been  my  maxim." 

"  If  the  differences  be  the  result  of  honest  convictions  on 
either  side,  — no;  but  are  you  honest,  Lumley?" 

"Faith,  I  have  got  into  the  habit  of  thinking  so;  and 
habit 's  a  second  nature.  However,  I  dare  say  we  shall  yet 
meet  in  the  arena,  so  I  must  not  betray  my  weak  points. 
How  is  it,  Maltravers,  that  they  see  so  little  of  you  at  the 
rectory?  You  are  a  great  favourite  there.  Have  you  any  liv- 
ing that  Charley  Merton  could  hold  with  his  own?  You 
shake  your  head.  And  what  think  you  of  Miss  Cameron,  my 
intended?  " 


138  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"You  speak  lightly.     Perhaps  you  —  " 

"  Feel  deeply,  —  you  were  going  to  say.  I  do.  In  the 
hand  of  my  ward,  Evelyn  Cameron,  I  trust  to  obtain  at  once 
the  domestic  happiness  to  which  I  have  as  yet  been  a  stran- 
ger, and  the  wealth  necessary  to  my  career." 

Lord  Vargrave  continued,  after  a  short  pause,  "  Though  my 
avocations  have  separated  us  so  much,  I  have  no  doubt  of  her 
steady  affection,  —  and,  I  may  add,  of  her  sense  of  honour. 
She  alone  can  repair  to  me  what  else  had  been  injustice  in 
my  uncle."  He  then  proceeded  to  repeat  the  moral  obliga- 
tions which  the  late  lord  had  imposed  on  Evelyn,  —  obli- 
gations that  he  greatly  magnified.  Maltravers  listened 
attentively,  and  said  little. 

"And  these  obligations  being  fairly  considered,"  added 
Vargrave,  with  a  smile,  "I  think,  even  had  I  rivals,  that 
they  could  scarcely  in  honour  attempt  to  break  an  existing 
engagement. " 

"Not  while  the  engagement  lasted,"  answered  Maltravers; 
"not  till  one  or  the  other  had  declined  to  fulfil  it,  and  there- 
fore left  both  free :  but  I  trust  it  will  be  an  alliance  in  which 
all  but  affection  will  be  forgotten ;  that  of  honour  alone  would 
be  but  a  harsh  tie." 

"Assuredly,"  said  Vargrave;  and,  as  if  satisfied  with  what 
had  passed,  he  turned  the  conversation,  —  praised  Burleigh, 
spoke  of  county  matters,  resumed  his  habitual  gayety,  though 
it  was  somewhat  subdued,  and  promising  to  call  again  soon, 
he  at  last  took  his  leave. 

Maltravers  pursued  his  solitary  rambles,  and  his  commune 
with  himself  was  stern  and  searching. 

"And  so,"  thought  he,  "this  prize  is  reserved  for  Vargrave! 
Why  should  I  deem  him  unworthy  of  the  treasure?  May 
he  not  be  worthier,  at  all  events,  than  this  soured  temper  and 
erring  heart?  And  he  is  assured  too  of  her  affection!  Why 
this  jealous  pang?  Why  can  the  fountain  within  never  be 
exhausted?  Why,  through  so  many  scenes  and  sufferings, 
have  I  still  retained  the  vain  madness  of  my  youth,  —  the 
haunting  susceptibility  to  love?    This  is  my  latest  folly." 


BOOK    IV. 


FwaiKhs  ovSh  XPVf-'  ^"^P  AijtC<Tat 

'EffBKTJS  OfXilVOV.  —  SiMONIDES. 

"  A  virtuous  woman  is  man's  greatest  pride." 


CHAPTER  I. 
Abboas  uneasy,  nor  content  at  home. 

And  Wisdom  shows  the  ill  without  the  cure. 

Hammond  :  Elegies. 

Two  or  three  days  after  the  interview  between  Lord  Var- 
grave  and  Maltravers,  the  solitude  of  Burleigh  was  relieved 
by  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Cleveland.  The  good  old  gentleman, 
when  free  from  attacks  of  the  gout,  which  were  now  some- 
what more  frequent  than  formerly,  was  the  same  cheerful  and 
intelligent  person  as  ever.  Amiable,  urbane,  accomplished, 
and  benevolent,  there  was  just  enough  worldliness  in  Cleve- 
land's nature  to  make  his  views  sensible  as  far  as  they  went, 
but  to  bound  their  scope.  Everything  he  said  was  so  rational ; 
and  yet,  to  an  imaginative  person,  his  conversation  was  unsat- 
isfactory, and  his  philosophy  somewhat  chilling. 

"  I  cannot  say  how  pleased  and  surprised  I  am  at  your  care 
of  the  fine  old  place,"  said  he  to  Maltravers,  as,  leaning  on 
his  cane  and  his  ci-devant  pupil's  arm,  he  loitered  observantly 
through  the  grounds ;  *'  I  see  everywhere  the  presence  of  the 
Master." 

And  certainly  the  praise  was  deserved.  The  gardens  were 
now  in  order,  the  dilapidated  fences  were  repaired,  the  weeds 
no  longer  encumbered  the  walks.     Nature  was  just  assisted 


140  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  relieved  by  Art,  witliout  being  oppressed  by  too  officious 
a  service  from  her  handmaid.  In  the  house  itself  some  suit- 
able and  appropriate  repairs  and  decorations  —  with  such 
articles  of  furniture  as  combined  modern  comfort  with  the 
ancient  and  picturesque  shapes  of  a  former  fashion  —  had 
redeemed  the  mansion  from  all  appearance  of  dreariness  and 
neglect ;  while  still  was  left  to  its  quaint  halls  and  chambers 
the  character  which  belonged  to  their  architecture  and  asso- 
ciations. It  was  surprising  how  much  a  little  exercise  of 
simple  taste  had  effected. 

"I  am  glad  you  approve  what  I  have  done,"  said  Mal- 
travers.  "  I  know  not  how  it  was,  but  the  desolation  of  the 
place  when  I  returned  to  it  reproached  me.  We  contract 
friendship  with  places  as  with  human  beings,  and  fancy  they 
have  claims  upon  us;  at  least,  that  is  my  weakness." 

"  And  an  amiable  one  it  is,  too,  —  I  share  it.  As  for  me,  I 
look  upon  Temple  Grove  as  a  fond  husband  upon  a  fair  wife. 
I  am  always  anxious  to  adorn  it,  and  as  proud  of  its  beauty 
as  if  it  could  understand  and  thank  me  for  my  partial  admira- 
tion. When  I  leave  you  I  intend  going  to  Paris,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  attending  a  sale  of  the  pictures  and  effects  of  M.  de 

.     These  auctions  are  to  me  what  a  jeweller's  shop  is  to 

a  lover;  but  then,  Ernest,  I  am  an  old  bachelor." 

"And  I,  too,  am  an  Arcadian,"  said  Maltravers,  with  a 
smile. 

"Ah,  but  you  are  not  too  old  for  repentance.  Burleigh 
now  requires  nothing  but  a  mistress." 

"Perhaps  it  may  soon  receive  that  addition.  I  am  yet 
undecided  whether  I  shall  sell  it." 

"  Sell  it !  sell  Burleigh !  —  the  last  memorial  of  your 
mother's  ancestry!  the  classic  retreat  of  the  graceful  Digbys! 
Sell  Burleigh!" 

"  I  had  almost  resolved  to  do  so  when  I  came  hither ;  then 
I  forswore  the  intention:  now  again  I  sometimes  sorrowfully 
return  to  the  idea." 

"And  in  Heaven's  name,  why?" 

"  My  old  restlessness  returns.  Busy  myself  as  I  will  here, 
I  find  the  range  of  action  monotonous  and  confined.     I  began 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  141 

too  soon  to  draw  around  me  the  large  circumference  of  litera- 
ture and  action;  and  the  small  provincial  sphere  seems  to  me 
a  sad  going  back  in  life.  Perhaps  I  should  not  feel  this,  were 
my  home  less  lonely;  but  as  it  is  —  no,  the  wanderer's  ban  is 
on  me,  and  I  again  turn  towards  the  lands  of  excitement  and 
adventure." 

*'  I  understand  this,  Ernest ;  but  why  is  your  home  so  soli- 
tary? You  are  still  at  the  age  in  which  wise  and  congenial 
unions  are  the  most  frequently  formed ;  your  temper  is  domes- 
tic; your  easy  fortune  and  sobered  ambition  allow  you  to 
choose  without  reference  to  worldly  considerations.  Look 
round  the  world,  and  mix  with  the  world  again,  and  give 
Burleigh  the  mistress  it  requires." 

Maltravers  shook  his  head,  and  sighed. 

"  I  do  not  say, "  continued  Cleveland,  wrapped  in  the  glow- 
ing interest  of  the  theme,  "  that  you  should  marry  a  mere  girl, 
but  an  amiable  woman,  who,  like  yourself,  has  seen  something 
of  life,  and  knows  how  to  reckon  on  its  cares,  and  to  be  con- 
tented with  its  enjoyments." 

"You  have  said  enough,"  said  Maltravers,  impatiently; 
"an  experienced  woman  of  the  world,  whose  freshness  of 
hope  and  heart  is  gone !  What  a  picture !  No,  to  me  there 
is  something  inexpressibly  beautiful  in  innocence  and  youth. 
But  you  say  justly,  —  my  years  are  not  those  that  would  make 
a  union  with  youth  desirable  or  well  suited." 

"  I  do  not  say  that,"  said  Cleveland,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff; 
"  but  you  should  avoid  great  disparity  of  age,  —  not  for  the 
sake  of  that  disparity  itself,  but  because  with  it  is  involved 
discord  of  temper,  pursuits.  A  very  young  woman,  new  to 
the  world,  will  not  be  contented  with  home  alone ;  you  are  at 
once  too  gentle  to  curb  her  wishes,  and  a  little  too  stern  and 
reserved  —  pardon  me  for  saying  so  —  to  be  quite  congenial  to 
very  early  and  sanguine  youth." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Maltravers,  with  a  tone  of  voice  that 
showed  he  was  struck  with  the  remark ;  "  but  how  have  we 
fallen  on  this  subject?  let  us  change  it.  I  have  no  idea  of 
marriage,  —  the  gloomy  reminiscence  of  Florence  Lascelles 
chains  me  to  the  past." 


142  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Poor  Florence,  she  might  once  have  suited  you;  but  now 
you  axe  older,  and  would  require  a  calmer  and  more  malleable 
temper." 

"Peace,  I  implore  you! " 

The  conversation  was  changed;  and  at  noon  Mr.  Merton, 
who  had  heard  of  Cleveland's  arrival,  called  at  Burleigh  to 
renew  an  old  acquaintance.  He  invited  them  to  pass  the 
evening  at  the  rectory;  and  Cleveland,  hearing  that  whist 
was  a  regular  amusement,  accepted  the  invitation  for  his 
host  and  himself.  But  when  the  evening  came,  Maltravers 
pleaded  indisposition,  and  Cleveland  was  obliged  to  go  alone. 

When  the  old  gentleman  returned  about  midnight,  he  found 
Maltravers  awaiting  him  in  the  library ;  and  Cleveland,  hav- 
ing won  fourteen  points,  was  in  a  very  gay,  conversable 
humour. 

"  You  perverse  hermit !  "  said  he,  "  talk  of  solitude,  indeed, 
with  so  pleasant  a  family  a  hundred  yards  distant !  You  de- 
serve to  be  solitary,  —  I  have  no  patience  with  you.  They 
complain  bitterly  of  your  desertion,  and  say  you  were,  at  first, 
the  enfant  de  la  maisoji." 

"So  you  like  the  Mertons?  The  clergyman  is  sensible,  but 
commonplace." 

"A  very  agreeable  man,  despite  your  cynical  definition, 
and  plays  a  very  fair  rubber.  But  Vargrave  is  a  first-rate 
player." 

"Vargrave  is  there  still?" 

"  Yes,  he  breakfasts  with  us  to-morrow,  —  he  invited 
himself." 

"Humph!" 

"  He  played  one  rubber ;  the  rest  of  the  evening  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  prettiest  girl  I  ever  saw,  —  Miss  Cameron. 
What  a  sweet  face!  so  modest,  yet  so  intelligent!  I  talked 
with  her  a  good  deal  during  the  deals  in  which  I  cut  out.  I 
almost  lost  my  heart  to  her." 

"So  Lord  Vargrave  devoted  himself  to  Miss  Cameron?" 

"  To  be  sure,  —  you  know  they  are  to  be  married  soon. 
Merton  told  me  so.  She  is  very  rich.  He  is  the  luckiest 
fellow  imaginable,  that  Vargrave!     But  he  is  much  too  old 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  143 

for  her :  she  seems  to  think  so  too.  I  can't  explain  why  I 
think  it;  but  by  her  pretty  reserved  manner  I  saw  that  she 
tried  to  keep  the  gay  minister  at  a  distance :  but  it  would  not 
do.  Now,  if  you  were  ten  years  younger,  or  Miss  Cameron 
ten  years  older,  you  might  have  had  some  chance  of  cutting 
out  your  old  friend." 

"  So  you  think  I  also  am  too  old  for  a  lover?  " 

"  For  a  lover  of  a  girl  of  seventeen,  certainly.  You  seem 
touchy  on  the  score  of  age,  Ernest." 

"Not  I;"  and  Maltravers  laughed. 

"No?  There  was  a  young  gentleman  present,  who,  I  think, 
Vargrave  might  really  find  a  dangerous  rival,  —  a  Colonel 
Legard,  —  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I  ever  saw  in  my  life ; 
just  the  style  to  turn  a  romantic  young  lady's  head;  a  mix- 
ture of  the  wild  and  the  thoroughbred;  black  curls,  superb 
eyes,  and  the  softest  manners  in  the  world.  But,  to  be  sure, 
he  has  lived  all  his  life  in  the  best  society.  Not  so  his  friend, 
Lord  Doltimore,  who  has  a  little  too  much  of  the  green-room 
lounge  and  French  cafi  manner  for  my  taste." 

"  Doltimore,  Legard,  names  new  to  me ;  I  never  met  them 
at  the  rectory." 

"Possibly  they  are  staying  at  Admiral  Legard's,  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Miss  Merton  made  their  acquaintance  at 
Knaresdean.  A  good  old  lady  —  the  most  perfect  Mrs. 
Grundy  one  would  wish  to  meet  with  —  who  owns  the  mono- 
syllabic appellation  of  Hare  (and  who,  being  my  partner, 
trumped  my  king!)  assured  me  that  Lord  Doltimore  was  des- 
perately in  love  with  Caroline  Merton.  By  the  way,  now, 
there  is  a  young  lady  of  a  proper  age  for  you,  —  handsome  and 
clever,  too." 

"You  talk  of  antidotes  to  matrimony;  and  so  Miss 
Cameron  —  " 

"  Oh,  no  more  of  Miss  Cameron  now,  or  T  shall  sit  up  all 
night;  she  has  half  turned  my  head.  I  can't  help  pitying 
her,  —  married  to  one  so  careless  and  worldly  as  Lord  Var- 
grave, thrown  so  young  into  the  whirl  of  London.  Poor 
thing!  she  had  better  have  fallen  in  love  with  Legard, — 
which  I  dare  say  she  will  do,  after  all.     Well,  good-night  I" 


144  ALICE;    OR,    THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Passion,  as  frequently  is  seen, 

Subsiding,  settles  into  spleen  ; 

Hence,  as  the  plague  of  happy  life, 

I  ran  away  from  party  strife. — Matthew  Green. 

Here  nymphs  from  hollow  oaks  relate 
The  dark  decrees  and  will  of  fate.  —  Ibid. 

According  to  his  engagement,  Vargrave  breakfasted  the 
next  morning  at  Burleigh.  Maltravers  at  first  struggled 
to  return  his  familiar  cordiality  with  equal  graciousness. 
Condemning  himself  for  former  and  unfounded  suspicions, 
he  wrestled  against  feelings  which  he  could  not  or  would  not 
analyze,  but  which  made  Lumley  an  unwelcome  visitor,  and 
connected  him  with  painful  associations,  whether  of  the  pres- 
ent or  the  past.  But  there  were  points  on  which  the  penetra- 
tion of  Maltravers  served  to  justify  his  prepossessions. 

The  conversation,  chiefly  sustained  by  Cleveland  and  Var- 
grave, fell  on  public  questions;  and  as  one  was  opposed  to 
the  other,  Vargrave's  exposition  of  views  and  motives  had 
in  them  so  much  of  the  self-seeking  of  the  professional  place- 
man, that  they  might  well  have  offended  any  man  tinged  by 
the  lofty  mania  of  political  Quixotism.  It  was  with  a  strange 
mixture  of  feelings  that  Maltravers  listened :  at  one  moment 
he  proudly  congratulated  himself  on  having  quitted  a  career 
where  such  opinions  seemed  so  well  to  prosper :  at  another, 
his  better  and  juster  sentiments  awoke  the  long-dormant  com- 
bative faculty,  and  he  almost  longed  for  the  turbulent  but 
sublime  arena,  in  which  truths  are  vindicated  and  mankind 
advanced. 

The  interview  did  not  serve  for  that  renewal  of  intimacy 
which  Vargrave  appeared  to  seek,  and  Maltravers  rejoiced 
when  the  placeman  took  his  departure. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  145 

Lumley,  who  was  about  to  pay  a  morning  visit  to  Lord 
Doltimore,  had  borrowed  Mr.  Merton's  stanhope,  as  being 
better  adapted  than  any  statelier  vehicle  to  get  rapidly 
through  the  cross-roads  which  led  to  Admiral  Legard's 
house;  and  as  he  settled  himself  in  the  seat,  with  his  ser- 
vant by  his  side,  he  said  laughingly,  "I  almost  fancy  my- 
self naughty  master  Lumley  again  in  this  young-man-kind  of 
two-wheeled  cockle-boat :  not  dignified,  but  rapid,  eh?" 

And  Lumley's  face,  as  he  spoke,  had  in  it  so  much  of  frank 
gayety,  and  his  manner  was  so  simple,  that  Maltravers  could 
with  difficulty  fancy  him  the  same  man  who,  five  minutes 
before,  had  been  uttering  sentiments  that  might  have  become 
the  oldest-hearted  intriguer  whom  the  hot-bed  of  ambition 
ever  reared. 

As  soon  as  Lumley  was  gone,  Maltravers  left  Cleveland 
alone  to  write  letters  (Cleveland  was  an  exemplary  and  volu- 
minous correspondent)  and  strolled  with  his  dogs  into  the 
village.  The  effect  which  the  presence  of  Maltravers  pro- 
duced among  his  peasantry  was  one  that  seldom  failed  to 
refresh  and  soothe  his  more  bitter  and  disturbed  thoughts. 
They  had  gradually  (for  the  poor  are  quick-sighted)  become 
sensible  of  his  justice,  —  a  finer  quality  than  many  that  seem 
more  amiable.  They  felt  that  his  real  object  was  to  make 
them  better  and  happier;  and  they  had  learned  to  see  that 
the  means  he  adopted  generally  advanced  the  end.  Besides, 
if  sometimes  stern,  he  was  never  capricious  or  unreasonable; 
and  then,  too,  he  would  listen  patiently  and  advise  kindly. 
They  were  a  little  in  awe  of  him,  but  the  awe  only  served  to 
make  them  more  industrious  and  orderly,  —  to  stimulate  the 
idle  man,  to  reclaim  the  drunkard.  He  was  one  of  the 
favourers  of  the  small-allotment  system,  —  not,  indeed,  as 
a  panacea,  but  as  one  excellent  stimulant  to  exertion  and 
independence ;  and  his  chosen  rewards  for  good  conduct  were 
in  such  comforts  as  served'  to  awaken  amongst  those  hitherto 
passive,  dogged,  and  hopeless  a  desire  to  better  and  improve 
their  condition.  Somehow  or  other,  without  direct  alms,  the 
goodwife  found  that  the  little  savings  in  the  cracked  teapot 
or  the  old  stocking  had  greatly  increased  since  the  squire's 

10 


146  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

return,  while  her  husband  came  home  from  his  moderate  cups 
at  the  alehouse  more  sober  and  in  better  temper.  Having 
already  saved  something  was  a  great  reason  why  he  should 
save  more.  The  new  school,  too,  was  so  much  better  con- 
ducted than  the  old  onej  the  children  actually  liked  going 
there;  and  now  and  then  there  were  little  village  feasts 
connected  with  the  schoolroom;  play  and  work  were  joint 
associations. 

And  Maltravers  looked  into  his  cottages,  and  looked  at  the 
allotment-ground;  and  it  was  pleasant  to  him  to  say  to  him- 
self, "I  am  not  altogether  without  use  in  life."  But  as  he 
pursued  his  lonely  walk,  and  the  glow  of  self -approval  died 
away  with  the  scenes  that  called  it  forth,  the  cloud  again  set- 
tled on  his  brow;  and  again  he  felt  that  in  solitude  the  pas- 
sions feed  upon  the  heart.  As  he  thus  walked  along  the  green 
lane,  and  the  insect  life  of  summer  rustled  audibly  among  the 
shadowy  hedges  and  along  the  thick  grass  that  sprang  up  on 
either  side,  he  came  suddenly  upon  a  little  group  that  arrested 
all  his  attention. 

It  was  a  woman,  clad  in  rags,  bleeding,  and  seemingly 
insensible,  supported  by  the  overseer  of  the  parish  and  a 
labourer. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Maltravers. 

"  A  poor  woman  has  been  knocked  down  and  run  over  by  a 
gentleman  in  a  gig,  your  honour, "  replied  the  overseer.  "  He 
stopped,  half  an  hour  ago,  at  my  house  to  tell  me  that  she 
was  lying  on  the  road;  and  he  has  given  me  two  sovereigns 
for  her,  your  honour.  But,  poor  cretur!  she  was  too  heavy 
for  me  to  carry  her,  and  I  was  forced  to  leave  her  and  call 
Tom  to  help  me." 

"The  gentleman  might  have  stayed  to  see  what  were  the 
consequences  of  his  own  act,"  muttered  Maltravers,  as  he 
examined  the  wound  in  the  temple,  whence  the  blood  flowed 
copiously. 

"He  said  he  was  in  a  great  hurry,  your  honour,"  said  the 
village  official,  overhearing  Maltravers.  "  I  think  it  was  one 
of  the  grand  folks  up  at  the  parsonage ;  for  I  know  it  was  Mr. 
Merton's  bay  horse,  — he  is  a  hot  'un!  " 


ALICE  i    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  147 

"Does  the  poor  woman  live  in  the  neighbourhood?  Do 
you  know  her?"  asked  Maltravers,  turning  from  the  con- 
templation of  this  new  instance  of  Vargrave's  selfishness  of 
character. 

"  No ;  the  old  body  seems  quite  a  stranger  here,  —  a 
tramper,  or  beggar,  I  think,  sir.  But  it  won't  be  a  settle- 
ment if  we  take  her  in;  and  we  can  carry  her  to  the  Chequers, 
up  the  village,  your  honour." 

"What  is  the  nearest  house,  — your  own? " 

"  Yes ;  but  we  be  so  busy  now !  " 

"  She  shall  not  go  to  your  house,  and  be  neglected ;  and  as 
for  the  public-house,  it  is  too  noisy :  we  must  move  her  to  the 
Hall." 

"  Your  honour !  "  ejaculated  the  overseer,  opening  his  eyes. 

"It  is  not  very  far;  she  is  severely  hurt.  Get  a  hurdle, 
lay  a  mattress  on  it.  Make  haste,  both  of  you;  I  will  wait 
here  till  you  return." 

The  poor  woman  was  carefully  placed  on  the  grass  by  the 
road-side,  and  Maltravers  supported  her  head,  while  the  men 
hastened  to  obey  his  orders. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Alse  from  that  forked  hill,  the  boasted  seat 

Of  studious  Peace  and  mild  Philosophy, 

Indignant  murmurs  mote  be  heard  to  threat. — West. 

Mr.  Cleveland  wanted  to  enrich  one  of  his  letters  with  a 
quotation  from  Ariosto,  which  he  but  imperfectly  remem- 
bered. He  had  seen  the  book  he  wished  to  refer  to  in  the 
little  study  the  day  before;  and  he  quitted  the  library  to 
search  for  it. 

As  he  was  tumbling  over  some  volumes  that  lay  piled  on 
the  writing-table,  he  felt  a  student's  curiosity  to  discover 
what  now  constituted  his  host's  favourite  reading.  He  was 
surprised  to  observe  that  the  greater  portion  of  the  works 


148  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES 

that,  by  the  doubled  leaf  and  the  pencilled  reference,  seemed 
most  frequently  consulted,  were  not  of  a  literary  nature,  — 
they  were  chiefly  scientific ;  and  astronomy  seemed  the  chosen 
science.  He  then  remembered  that  he  had  heard  Maltravers 
speaking  to  a  builder,  employed  on  the  recent  repairs,  on  the 
subject  of  an  observatory.  "This  is  very  strange,"  thought 
Cleveland;  "he  gives  up  literature,  the  rewards  of  which  are 
in  his  reach,  and  turns  to  science,  at  an  age  too  late  to  disci- 
pline his  mind  to  its  austere  training." 

Alas!  Cleveland  did  not  understand  that  there  are  times 
in  life  when  imaginative  minds  seek  to  numb  and  to  blunt 
imagination.  Still  less  did  he  feel  that,  when  we  per- 
versely refuse  to  apply  our  active  faculties  to  the  catholic 
interests  of  the  world,  they  turn  morbidly  into  channels  of  re- 
search the  least  akin  to  their  real  genius.  By  the  collision 
of  minds  alone  does  each  mind  discover  what  is  its  proper 
product :  left  to  ourselves,  our  talents  become  but  intellectual 
eccentricities. 

Some  scattered  papers,  in  the  handwriting  of  Maltravers, 
fell  from  one  of  the  volumes.  Of  these,  a  few  were  but  alge- 
braical calculations,  or  short  scientific  suggestions,  the  value 
of  which  Mr.  Cleveland's  studies  did  not  enable  him  to  ascer- 
tain; but  in  others  they  were  wild  snatches  of  mournful  and 
impassioned  verse,  which  showed  that  the  old  vein  of  poetry 
still  flowed,  though  no  longer  to  the  daylight.  These  verses 
Cleveland  thought  himself  justified  in  glancing  over,  they 
seemed  to  portray  a  state  of  mind  which  deeply  interested, 
and  greatly  saddened  him.  They  expressed,  indeed,  a  firm 
determination  to  bear  up  against  both  the  memory  and  the 
fear  of  ill;  but  mysterious  and  hinted  allusions  here  and 
there  served  to  denote  some  recent  and  yet  existent  struggle, 
revealed  by  the  heart  only  to  the  genius.  In  these  partial  and 
imperfect  self-communings  and  confessions,  there  was  the  evi- 
dence of  the  pining  affections,  the  wasted  life,  the  desolate 
hearth  of  the  lonely  man.  Yet  so  calm  was  Maltravers  him- 
self, even  to  his  early  friend,  that  Cleveland  knew  not  what 
to  think  of  the  reality  of  the  feelings  painted.  Had  that 
fervid  and  romantic  spirit  been  again  awakened  by  a  living 


ALICE  i    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  149 

object?  If  so,  where  was  the  object  found?  The  dates  affixed 
to  the  verses  were  most  recent.  But  whom  had  Maltravers 
seen?  Cleveland's  thoughts  turned  to  Caroline  Merton,  to 
Evelyn;  but  when  he  had  spoken  of  both,  nothing  in  the 
countenance,  the  manner,  of  Maltravers  had  betrayed  emo- 
tion. And  once  the  heart  of  Maltravers  had  so  readily  be- 
trayed itself!  Cleveland  knew  not  how  pride,  years,  and 
suffering  school  the  features,  and  repress  the  outward  signs 
of  what  pass  within.  While  thus  engaged,  the  door  of  the 
study  opened  abruptly,  and  the  servant  announced  Mr. 
Merton. 

*'  A  thousand  pardons, "  said  the  courteous  rector.  "  I  fear 
we  disturb  you;  but  Admiral  Legard  and  Lord  Doltimore, 
who  called  on  us  this  morning,  were  so  anxious  to  see  Bur- 
leigh, I  thought  I  might  take  the  liberty.  We  have  come 
over  quite  in  a  large  party,  —  taken  the  place  by  storm.  Mr. 
Maltravers  is  out,  I  hear;  but  you  will  let  us  see  the  house. 
My  allies  are  already  in  the  hall,  examining  the  armour." 

Cleveland,  ever  sociable  and  urbane,  answered  suitably,  and 
went  with  Mr.  Merton  into  the  hall,  where  Caroline,  her  little 
sisters,  Evelyn,  Lord  Doltimore,  Admiral  Legard,  and  his 
nephew  were  assembled. 

"  Very  proud  to  be  my  host's  representative  and  your 
guide,"  said  Cleveland.  "Your  visit,  Lord  Doltimore,  is 
indeed  an  agreeable  surprise.  Lord  Vargrave  left  us  an 
hour  or  so  since  to  call  on  you  at  Admiral  Legard's:  we 
buy  our  pleasure  with  his  disappointment." 

"It  is  very  unfortunate,"  said  the  admiral,  a  bluff,  harsh- 
looking  old  gentleman;  "but  we  were  not  aware,  till  we  saw 
Mr.  Merton,  of  the  honour  Lord  Vargrave  has  done  us.  I 
can't  think  how  we  missed  him  on  the  road." 

"My  dear  uncle,"  said  Colonel  Legard,  in  a  peculiarly  sweet 
and  agreeable  tone  of  voice,  "  you  forget  we  came  three  miles 
round  by  the  high  road ;  and  Mr.  Merton  says  that  Lord  Var- 
grave took  the  short  cut  by  Langley  End.  My  uncle,  Mr. 
Cleveland,  never  feels  in  safety  upon  land,  unless  the  road  is 
as  wide  as  the  British  Channel,  and  the  horses  go  before  the 
wind  at  the  rapid  pace  of  two  knots  and  a  half  an  hour! " 


150  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"I  just  wish  I  had  you  at  sea,  Mr.  Jackanapes,"  said  the 
admiral,  looking  grimly  at  his  handsome  nephew,  while  he 
shook  his  cane  at  him. 

The  nephew  smiled;  and,  falling  back,  conversed  with 
Evelyn. 

The  party  were  now  shown  over  the  house ;  and  Lord  Dolti- 
more  was  loud  in  its  praises.  It  was  like  a  chateau  he  had 
once  hired  in  Normandy,  — it  had  a  French  character;  those 
old  chairs  were  in  excellent  taste,  —  quite  the  style  of  Francis 
the  First. 

"I  know  no  man  I  respect  more  than  Mr.  Maltravers," 
quoth  the  admiral.  "Since  he  has  been  amongst  us  this 
time,  he  has  been  a  pattern  to  us  country  gentlemen.  He 
would  make  an  excellent  colleague  for  Sir  John.  We  really 
must  get  him  to  stand  against  that  young  puppy  who  is  mem- 
ber of  the  House  of  Commons  only  because  his  father  is  a  peer, 
and  never  votes  more  than  twice  a  session." 

Mr.  Merton  looked  grave. 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  you  could  persuade  him  to  stay  amongst 
you,"  said  Cleveland.  "He  has  half  taken  it  into  his  head  to 
part  with  Burleigh !  " 

"  Part  with  Burleigh !  "  exclaimed  Evelyn,  turning  abruptly 
from  the  handsome  colonel,  in  whose  conversation  she  had 
hitherto  seemed  absorbed. 

"  My  very  ejaculation  when  I  heard  him  say  so,  my  dear 
young  lady." 

"I  wish  he  would,"  said  Lord  Doltimore  hastily,  and  glan- 
cing towards  Caroline.  "I  should  much  like  to  buy  it.  What 
do  you  think  would  be  the  purchase-money?" 

"Don't  talk  so  cold-bloodedly,"  said  the  admiral,  letting 
the  point  of  his  cane  fall  with  grejft  emphasis  on  the  floor. 
"  I  can't  bear  to  see  old  families  deserting  their  old  places,  — 
quite  wicked.  You  buy  Burleigh!  have  not  you  got  a  country- 
seat  of  your  own,  my  lord?  Go  and  live  there,  and  take  Mr. 
Maltravers  for  your  model,  — you  could  not  have  a  better." 

Lord  Doltimore  sneered,  coloured,  settled  his  neckcloth, 
and  turning  round  to  Colonel  Legard,  whispered,  "Legard, 
your  good  uncle  is  a  bore." 


ALICE  ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  151 

Legard  looked  a  little  offended,  and  made  no  reply. 

"But,"  said  Caroline,  coming  to  the  relief  of  her  admirer, 
"if  Mr.  Maltravers  will  sell  the  place,  surely  he  could  not 
have  a  better  successor." 

"He  sha'n't  sell  the  place,  ma'am,  and  that's  poz!"  cried 
the  admiral.  "  The  whole  county  shall  sign  a  round-robin  to 
tell  him  it 's  a  shame ;  and  if  any  one  dares  to  buy  it  we  '11 
send  him  to  Coventry." 

Miss  Merton  laughed,  but  looked  round  the  old  wainscot 
walls  with  unusual  interest;  she  thought  it  would  be  a  fine 
thing  to  be  Lady  of  Burleigh ! 

"And  what  is  that  picture  so  carefully  covered  up?"  said 
the  admiral,  as  they  now  stood  in  the  library. 

"The  late  Mrs.  Maltravers,  Ernest's  mother,"  replied 
Cleveland,  slowly.  "He  dislikes  it  to  be  shown  —  to  stran- 
gers: the  other  is  a  Digby." 

Evelyn  looked  towards  the  veiled  portrait,  and  thought  of 
her  first  interview  with  Maltravers;  but  the  soft  voice  of 
Colonel  Legard  murmured  in  her  ear,  and  her  revery  was 
broken. 

Cleveland  eyed  the  colonel,  and  muttered  to  himself,  "  Var- 
grave  should  keep  a  sharp  look-out." 

They  had  now  finished  their  round  of  the  show-apartments 
—  which  indeed  had  little  but  their  antiquity  and  old  por- 
traits to  recommend  them  —  and  were  in  a  lobby  at  the  back 
of  the  house,  communicating  with  a  courtyard,  two  sides  of 
which  were  occupied  with  the  stables.  The  sight  of  the 
stables  reminded  Caroline  of  the  Arab  horses;  and  at  the 
word  "horses"  Lord  Doltimore  seized  Legard's  arm  and  car- 
ried him  off  to  inspect  the  animals.  Caroline,  her  father, 
and  the  admiral  followed.  Mr.  Cleveland  happened  not  to 
have  on  his  walking-shoes;  and  the  flagstones  in  the  court- 
yard looked  damp;  and  Mr.  Cleveland,  like  most  old  bache- 
lors, was  prudently  afraid  of  cold ;  so  he  excused  himself,  and 
stayed  behind.  He  was  talking  to  Evelyn  about  the  Digbys, 
and  full  of  anecdotes  about  Sir  Kenelm  at  the  moment  the 
rest  departed  so  abruptly;  and  Evelyn  was  interested,  sr>  she 
insisted  on  keeping  him  company. 


152  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

The  old  gentleman  was  flattered;  he  thought  it  excellent 
breeding  in  Miss  Cameron.  The  children  ran  out  to  renew 
acquaintance  with  the  peacock,  who,  perched  on  an  old  stir- 
rup-stone, was  sunning  his  gay  plumage  in  the  noon-day. 

"It  is  astonishing,"  said  Cleveland,  "how  certain  family 
features  are  transmitted  from  generation  to  generation !  Mal- 
travers  has  still  the  forehead  and  eyebrows  of  the  Digbys,  — 
that  peculiar,  brooding,  thoughtful  forehead,  which  you  ob- 
served in  the  picture  of  Sir  Kenelm.  Once,  too,  he  had  much 
the  same  dreaming  character  of  mind,  but  he  has  lost  that,  in 
some  measure  at  least.  He  has  fine  qualities.  Miss  Cameron, 
—  I  have  known  him  since  he  was  born.  I  trust  his  career  is 
not  yet  closed ;  could  he  but  form  ties  that  would  bind  him  to 
England,  I  should  indulge  in  higher  expectations  than  I  did 
even  when  the  wild  boy  turned  half  the  heads  in  Gottingen. 

"  But  we  were  talking  of  family  portraits :  there  is  one  in 
the  entrance-hall,  which  perhaps  you  have  not  observed;  it  is 
half  obliterated  by  damp  and  time,  yet  it  is  of  a  remarkable 
personage,  connected  with  Maltravers  by  ancestral  intermar- 
riages,—  Lord  Falkland,  the  Falkland  of  Clarendon;  a  man 
weak  in  character,  but  made  most  interesting  by  history,  — 
utterly  unfitted  for  the  severe  ordeal  of  those  stormy  times ; 
sighing  for  peace  when  his  whole  soul  should  have  been  in 
war;  and  repentant  alike  whether  with  the  Parliament  or  the 
king,  but  still  a  personage  of  elegant  and  endearing  associa- 
tions; a  student-soldier,  with  a  high  heart  and  a  gallant  spirit. 
Come  and  look  at  his  features,  —  homely  and  worn,  but  with 
a  characteristic  air  of  refinement  and  melancholy  thought." 

Thus  running  on,  the  agreeable  old  gentleman  drew  Evelyn 
into  the  outer  hall.  Upon  arriving  there,  through  a  small 
passage,  which  opened  upon  the  hall,  they  were  surprised  to 
find  the  old  housekeeper  and  another  female  servant  standing 
by  a  rude  kind  of  couch  on  which  lay  the  form  of  the  poor 
woman  described  in  the  last  chapter.  Maltravers  and  two 
other  men  were  also  there ;  and  Maltravers  himself  was  giv- 
ing orders  to  his  servants,  while  he  leaned  over  the  sufferer, 
who  was  now  conscious  both  of  pain  and  the  service  rendered 
to  her.     As  Evelyn  stopped  abruptly,  and  in  surprise,  oppo- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  153 

site  and  almost  at  the  foot  of  the  homely  litter,  the  woman 
raised  herself  up  on  one  arm,  and  gazed  at  her  with  a  wild 
stare ;  then  muttering  some  incoherent  words  which  appeared 
to  betoken  delirium,  she  sank  back,  and  was  again  insensible. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Hence  oft  to  win  some  stubborn  maid, 

Still  does  the  wanton  god  assume 
The  martial  air,  the  gay  cockade, 

Tlie  sword,  the  shoulder-knot,  and  plume. 

Marriott. 

The  hall  was  cleared,  the  sufferer  had  been  removed,  and 
Maltravers  was  left  alone  with  Cleveland  and  Evelyn. 

He  simply  and  shortly  narrated  the  adventure  of  the  morn- 
ing; but  he  did  not  mention  that  Vargrave  had  been  the  cause 
of  the  injury  his  new  guest  had  sustained.  Now  this  event 
had  served  to  make  a  mutual  and  kindred  impression  on  Eve- 
lyn and  Maltravers.  The  humanity  of  the  latter,  natural  and 
commonplace  as  it  was,  was  an  endearing  recollection  to 
Evelyn,  precisely  as  it  showed  that  his  cold  theory  of  dis- 
dain towards  the  mass  did  not  affect  his  actual  conduct 
towards  individuals.  On  the  other  hand,  Maltravers  had 
perhaps  been  yet  more  impressed  with  the  prompt  and  ingen- 
uous sympathy  which  Evelyn  had  testified  towards  the  suf- 
ferer: it  had  so  evidently  been  her  first  gracious  and  womanly 
impulse  to  hasten  to  the  side  of  this  humble  stranger.  In 
that  impulse,  Maltravers  himself  had  been  almost  forgotten; 
and  as  the  poor  woman  lay  pale  and  lifeless,  and  the  young 
Evelyn  bent  over  her  in  beautiful  compassion,  Maltravers 
thought  she  had  never  seemed  so  lovely,  so  irresistible,  —  in 
fact,  pity  in  woman  is  a  great  beautifier. 

As  Maltravers  finished  his  short  tale,  Evelyn's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  him  with  such  frank  and  yet  such  soft  approval, 


154  ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

that  the  look  went  straight  to  his  heart.  He  quickly  turned 
away,  and  abruptly  changed  the  conversation. 

"  But  how  long  have  you  been  here.  Miss  Cameron,  —  and 
your  companions?  " 

"We  are  again  intruders j  but  this  time  it  was  not  my 
fault." 

"  No, "  said  Cleveland,  *'  for  a  wonder  it  was  male,  and  not 
lady-like  curiosity  that  trespassed  on  Bluebeard's  chamber. 
But,  however,  to  soften  your  resentment,  know  that  Miss 
Cameron  has  brought  you  a  purchaser  for  Burleigh.  Now, 
then,  we  can  test  the  sincerity  of  your  wish  to  part  with  it. 
1  assure  you,  meanwhile,  that  Miss  Cameron  was  as  much 
shocked  at  the  idea  as  I  was.     Were  you  not?  " 

"But  you  surely  have  no  intention  of  selling  Burleigh?" 
said  Evelyn,  anxiously. 

"I  fear  I  do  not  know  my  own  mind." 

"  Well, "  said  Cleveland,  "  here  comes  your  tempter.  Lord 
Doltimore,  let  me  introduce  Mr.  Maltravers." 

Lord  Doltimore  bowed, 

"  Been  admiring  your  horses,  Mr.  Maltravers.  I  never  saw 
anything  so  perfect  as  the  black  onej  may  I  ask  where  you 
bought  him?" 

"It  was  a  present  to  me,"  answered  Maltravers. 

"A  present?" 

"  Yes,  from  one  who  would  not  have  sold  that  horse  for  a 
king's  ransom, — an  old  Arab  chief,  with  whom  I  formed 
a  kind  of  friendship  in  the  desert.  A  wound  disabled  him 
from  riding,  and  he  bestowed  the  horse  on  me,  with  as  much 
solemn  tenderness  for  the  gift  as  if  he  had  given  me  his 
daughter  in  marriage." 

"I  think  of  travelling  in  the  East,"  said  Lord  Doltimore, 
with  much  gravity:  "I  suppose  nothing  will  induce  you  to 
sell  the  black  horse?  " 

"  Lord  Doltimore ! "  said  Maltravers,  in  a  tone  of  lofty 
surprise. 

"I  do  not  care  for  the  price,"  continued  the  young  noble- 
man, a  little  disconcerted. 

"No;  I  never  sell  any  horse  that  has  once  learned  to  know 


ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES.  155 

me.  I  would  as  soon  think  of  selling  a  friend.  In  the 
desert,  one's  horse  is  one's  friend.  1  am  almost  an  Arab 
myself  in  these  matters." 

"But  talking  of  sale  and  barter  reminds  me  of  Burleigh," 
said  Cleveland,  maliciously.  "  Lord  Doltimore  is  a  universal 
buyer.  He  covets  all  your  goods :  he  will  take  the  house,  if 
he  can't  have  the  stables." 

"I  only  mean,"  said  Lord  Doltimore,  rather  peevishly, 
"that  if  you  wish  to  part  with  Burleigh,  I  should  like  to 
have  the  option  of  purchase." 

"I  will  remember  it,  if  I  determine  to  sell  the  place," 
answered  Maltravers,  smiling  gravely;  "at  present  I  am 
undecided." 

He  turned  away  towards  Evelyn  as  he  spoke,  and  almost 
started  to  observe  that  she  was  joined  by  a  stranger,  whose 
approach  he  had  not  before  noticed,  —  and  that  stranger  a 
man  of  such  remarkable  personal  advantages,  that,  had  Mal- 
travers been  in  Vargrave's  position,  he  might  reasonably  have 
experienced  a  pang  of  jealous  apprehension.  Slightly  above 
the  common  height;  slender,  yet  strongly  formed;  set  off  by 
every  advantage  of  dress,  of  air,  of  the  nameless  tone  and  per- 
vading refinement  that  sometimes,  though  not  always,  springs 
from  early  and  habitual  intercourse  with  the  most  polished 
female  society,  —  Colonel  Legard,  at  the  age  of  eight  and 
twenty,  had  acquired  a  reputation  for  beauty  almost  as  popu- 
lar and  as  well  known  as  that  which  men  usually  acquire  by 
mental  qualifications.  Yet  there  was  nothing  effeminate  in 
his  countenance,  the  symmetrical  features  of  which  were 
made  masculine  and  expressive  by  the  rich  olive  of  the  com- 
plexion, and  the  close  jetty  curls  of  the  Antinous-like  hair. 

They  seemed,  as  they  there  stood  —  Evelyn  and  Legard  — 
so  well  suited  to  each  other  in  personal  advantages,  their 
different  styles  so  happily  contrasted;  and  Legard,  at  the 
moment,  was  regarding  her  with  such  respectful  admiration, 
and  whispering  compliment  to  her  in  so  subdued  a  tone,  that 
the  dullest  observer  might  have  ventured  a  prophecy  by  no 
means  agreeable  to  the  hopes  of  Lumley  Lord  Vargrave. 

But  a  feeling  or  fear  of  this  nature  was  not  that  which 


166  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

occurred  to  Maltravers,  or  dictated  his  startled  exclamation 
of  surprise. 

Legard  looked  up  as  he  heard  the  exclamation,  and  saw 
Maltravers,  whose  back  had  hitherto  been  turned  towards 
him.  He,  too,  was  evidently  surprised,  and  seemingly  con- 
fused; the  colour  mounted  to  his  cheek,  and  then  left  it  pale. 

"Colonel  Legard,"  said  Cleveland,  "a  thousand  apologies 
for  my  neglect:  I  really  did  not  observe  you  enter, — you 
came  round  by  the  front  door,  I  suppose.  Let  me  make  you 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Maltravers." 

Legard  bowed  low. 

"We  have  met  before,"  said  he,  in  embarrassed  accents: 
"at  Venice,  I  think!" 

Maltravers  inclined  his  head  rather  stiiily  at  first,  but  then, 
as  if  moved  by  a  second  impulse,  held  out  his  hand  cordially. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ernest,  here  you  are ! "  cried  Sophy,  bounding 
into  the  hall,  followed  by  Mr.  Merton,  the  old  admiral,  Caro- 
line, and  Cecilia. 

The  interruption  seemed  welcome  and  opportune.  The 
admiral,  with  blunt  cordiality,  expressed  his  pleasure  at 
being  made  known  to  Mr.  Maltravers. 

The  conversation  grew  general ;  refreshments  were  proffered 
and  declined;  the  visit  drew  to  its  close. 

It  so  happened  that  as  the  guests  departed,  Evelyn,  from 
whose  side  the  constant  colonel  had  insensibly  melted  away, 
lingered  last,  —  save,  indeed,  the  admiral,  who  was  discussing 
with  Cleveland  a  new  specific  for  the  gout.  And  as  Mal- 
travers stood  on  the  steps,  Evelyn  turned  to  him  with  all  her 
beautiful  naivete  of  mingled  timidity  and  kindness,  and 
said,  — 

"  And  are  we  really  never  to  see  you  again ;  never  to  hear 
again  your  tales  of  Egypt  and  Arabia,  never  to  talk  over 
Tasso  and  Dante?  No  books,  no  talk,  no  disputes,  no  quar- 
rels? What  have  we  done?  I  thought  we  had  made  it  up,  — 
and  yet  you  are  still  unforgiving.  Give  me  a  good  scold,  and 
be  friends ! " 

"  Friends !  you  haye  no  friend  more  anxious,  more  devoted 
than  I  am.     Young,  rich,  fascinating  as  you  are,  you  will 


ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  157 

carve  no  impression  on  human  heartb  deeper  than  that  you 
have  graven  here !  " 

Carried  away  by  the  charm  of  her  childlike  familiarity  and 
enchanting  sweetness,  Maltravers  had  said  more  than  he 
intended;  yet  his  eyes,  his  emotion,  said  more  than  his 
words. 

Evelyn  coloured  deeply,  and  her  whole  manner  changed. 
However,  she  turned  away,  and  saying,  with  a  forced  gayety, 
"Well,  then,  you  will  not  desert  us;  we  shall  see  you  once 
more?  "  hurried  down  the  steps  to  join  her  companions. 


CHAPTER  V. 

See  how  the  skilful  lover  spreads  his  toils.  —  Stillingfleet. 

The  party  had  not  long  returned  to  the  rectory,  and  the 
admiral's  carriage  was  ordered,  when  Lord  Vargrave  made 
his  appearance.  He  descanted  with  gay  good-humour  on  his 
long  drive,  the  bad  roads,  and  his  disappointment  at  the  con- 
tretemps  that  awaited  him;  then,  drawing  aside  Colonel 
Legard,  who  seemed  unusually  silent  and  abstracted,  he 
said  to  him,  — 

"  My  dear  colonel,  my  visit  this  morning  was  rather  to  you 
than  to  Doltimore.  I  confess  that  I  should  like  to  see  your 
abilities  enlisted  on  the  side  of  the  Government;  and  know- 
ing that  the  post  of  Storekeeper  to  the  Ordnance  will  be 

vacant  in  a  day  or  two  by  the  promotion  of  Mr. ,  I  wrote 

to  secure  the  refusal.  To-day's  post  brings  me  the  answer. 
I  offer  the  place  to  you ;  and  I  trust,  before  long,  to  procure 
you  also  a  seat  in  parliament.  But  you  must  start  for  Lon- 
don immediately." 

A  week  ago,  and  Legard 's  utmost  ambition  would  have  been 
amply  gratified  by  this  post;  he  now  hesitated. 

"My  dear  lord,"  said  he,  "I  cannot  say  how  grateful  I 
feel  for  your  kindness;   but  —  but  —  " 


158  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Enough;  no  thanks,  my  dear  Legard.  Can  you  go  to 
town  to-morrow?  " 

"Indeed,"  said  Legard,  "I  fear  not;  I  must  consult  my 
uncle." 

"I  can  answer  for  him;  I  sounded  him  before  I  wrote. 
Reflect!  You  are  not  rich,  my  dear  Legard;  it  is  an  excel- 
lent opening :  a  seat  in  parliament,  too !  Why,  what  can  be 
your  reason  for  hesitation?  " 

There  was  something  meaning  and  inquisitive  in  the  tone 
of  voice  in  which  this  question  was  put  that  brought  the 
colour  to  the  colonel's  cheek.  He  knew  not  well  what  to 
reply ;  and  he  began,  too,  to  think  that  he  ought  not  to  refuse 
the  appointment.  Nay,  would  his  uncle,  on  whom  he  was 
dependent,  consent  to  such  a  refusal?  Lord  Vargrave  saw 
the  irresolution,  and  proceeded.  He  spent  ten  minutes  in 
combating  every  scruple,  every  objection:  he  placed  all  the 
advantages  of  the  post,  real  or  imaginary,  in  every  conceiva- 
ble point  of  view  before  the  colonel's  eyes;  he  sought  to  flat- 
ter, to  wheedle,  to  coax,  to  weary  him  into  accepting  it;  and 
he  at  length  partially  succeeded.  The  colonel  petitioned  for 
three  days'  consideration,  which  Vargrave  reluctantly  acceded 
to;  and  Legard  then  stepped  into  his  uncle's  carriage,  with 
the  air  rather  of  a  martyr  than  a  maiden  placeman. 

"Aha!"  said  Vargrave,  chuckling  to  himself  as  he  took  a 
turn  in  the  grounds,  "I  have  got  rid  of  that  handsome  knave; 
and  now  I  shall  have  Evelyn  all  to  myself!  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 
I  AM  forfeited  to  eternal  disgrace  if  you  do  not  commiserate. 

Go  to,  then,  raise,  recover.  —  Ben  Jonson  :  Poetaster, 

The  next  morning  Admiral  Legard  and  his  nephew  were 
conversing  in  the  little  cabin  consecrated  by  the  name  of  the 
admiral's  "own  room." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  169 

"Yes,"  said  the  veteran,  "it  would  be  moonshine  and  mad- 
ness not  to  accept  Vargrave's  offer;  though  one  can  see  through 
such  a  millstone  as  that  with  half  an  eye.  His  lordship  is 
jealous  of  such  a  fine,  handsome  young  fellow  as  you  are,  — 
and  very  justly.  But  as  long  as  he  is  under  the  same  roof 
with  Miss  Cameron,  you  will  have  no  opportunity  to  pay  your 
court;  when  he  goes,  you  can  always  manage  to  be  in  her 
neighbourhood ;  and  then,  you  know  —  puppy  that  you  are  — 
her  business  will  be  very  soon  settled."  And  the  admiral 
eyed  the  handsome  colonel  with  grim  fondness. 

Legard  sighed. 

"Have  you  any  commands  at  ?"  said  he;  "I  am  just 

going  to  canter  over  there  before  Doltimore  is  up." 

"Sad  lazy  dog,  your  friend." 

"I  shall  be  back  by  twelve." 

"What  are  you  going  to for?" 

"Brookes,  the  farrier,  has  a  little  spaniel, —  King  Charles's 
breed.  Miss  Cameron  is  fond  of  dogs.  I  can  send  it  to  her, 
with  my  compliments,  — it  will  be  a  sort  of  leave-taking." 

"Sly  rogue;  ha,  ha,  ha!  d — d  sly;  ha,  ha!"  and  the 
admiral  punched  the  slender  waist  of  his  nephew,  and 
laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"Good-by,  sir." 

"  Stop,  George ;  I  forgot  to  ask  you  a  question ;  you  never 
told  me  you  knew  Mr.  Maltravers.  Why  don't  you  cultivate 
his  acquaintance?  " 

"  We  met  at  Venice  accidentally.  1  did  not  know  his  name 
then ;  he  left  just  as  I  arrived.  As  you  say,  I  ought  to  culti- 
vate his  acquaintance." 

"  Fine  character  1 " 

"  Very !  "  said  Legard,  with  energy,  as  he  abruptly  quitted 
the  room. 

George  Legard  was  an  orphan.  His  father  —  the  admiral's 
elder  brother  —  had  been  a  spendthrift  man  of  fashion,  with 
a  tolerably  large  unentailed  estate.  He  married  a  duke's 
daughter  without  a  sixpence.  Estates  are  troublesome,  — 
Mr.  Legard 's  was  sold.  On  the  purchase -money  the  happy 
pair  lived  for  some  years  in  great  comfort,  when  Mr.  Legard 


160  ALICE;    OR,   TPIE   MYSTERIES. 

died  of  a  brain  fever;  and  his  disconsolate  widow  found  her- 
self alone  in  the  world  with  a  beautiful  little  curly-headed 
boy,  and  an  annuity  of  one  thousand  a  year,  for  which  her 
settlement  had  been  exchanged.  All  the  rest  of  the  fortune 
was  gone,  —  a  discovery  not  made  till  Mr.  Legard's  death. 
Lady  Louisa  did  not  long  survive  the  loss  of  her  husband  and 
her  station  in  society ;  her  income  of  course  died  with  herself. 
Her  only  child  was  brought  up  in  the  house  of  his  grand- 
father, the  duke,  till  he  was  of  age  to  hold  the  office  of 
king's  page;  thence,  as  is  customary,  he  was  promoted  to  a 
commission  in  the  Guards.  To  the  munificent  emoluments 
of  his  pay,  the  ducal  family  liberally  added  an  allowance  of 
two  hundred  a  year;  upon  which  income  Cornet  Legard  con- 
trived to  get  very  handsomely  in  debt.  The  extraordinary 
beauty  of  his  person,  his  connections,  and  his  manners  ob- 
tained him  all  the  celebrity  that  fashion  can  bestow;  but 
poverty  is  a  bad  thing.  Luckily,  at  this  time,  his  uncle  the 
admiral  returned  from  sea,  to  settle  for  the  rest  of  his  life  in 
England. 

Hitherto,  the  admiral  had  taken  no  notice  of  George.  He 
himself  had  married  a  merchant's  daughter  with  a  fair  por- 
tion ;  and  had  been  blessed  with  two  children,  who  monopo- 
lized all  his  affection.  But  there  seemed  some  mortality  in 
the  Legard  family;  in  one  year  after  returning  to  England 
and  settling  in  B shire,  the  admiral  found  himself  wife- 
less and  childless.  He  then  turned  to  his  orphan  nephew; 
and  soon  became  fonder  of  him  than  he  had  ever  been  of  his 
own  children.  The  admiral,  though  in  easy  circumstances, 
was  not  wealthy;  nevertheless,  he  advanced  the  money  requi- 
site for  George's  rise  m  the  army,  and  doubled  the  allowance 
bestowed  by  the  duke.  His  grace  heard  of  this  generosity, 
and  discovered  that  he  himself  had  a  very  large  family  grow- 
ing up  J  that  the  marquess  was  going  to  be  married,  and 
required  an  increase  of  income;  that  he  had  already  behaved 
most  handsomely  to  his  nephew;  and  the  result  of  this  dis- 
covery was  that  the  duke  withdrew  the  two  hundred  a  year. 
Legard,  however,  who  looked  on  his  uncle  as  an  exhaustless 
mine,  went  on  breaking  hearts  and  making  debts  —  till  one 


ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES.  161 

morning  he  woke  in  the  Bench.  The  admiral  was  hastily 
summoned  to  London.  He  arrived;  paid  off  the  duns  —  a 
kindness  which  seriously  embarrassed  him  —  swore,  scolded, 
and  cried;  and  finally  insisted  that  Legard  should  give  up 
that  d — d  coxcomb  regiment,  in  which  he  was  now  captain, 
retire  on  half-pay,  and  learn  economy  and  a  change  of  habits 
on  the  Continent. 

The  admiral,  a  rough  but  good-natured  man  on  the  whole, 
had  two  or  three  little  peculiarities.  In  the  first  place,  he 
piqued  himself  on  a  sort  of  John  Bull  independence;  was  a 
bit  of  a  Radical  (a  strange  anomaly  in  an  admiral)  —  which 
was  owing,  perhaps,  to  two  or  three  young  lords  having  been 
put  over  his  head  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  career;  and  he 
made  it  a  point  with  his  nephew  (of  whose  affection  he  was 
jealous)  to  break  with  those  fine  grand  connections,  who 
plunged  him  into  a  sea  of  extravagance,  and  then  never 
threw  him  a  rope  to  save  him  from  drowning. 

In  the  second  place,  without  being  stingy,  the  admiral  had 
a  good  deal  of  economy  in  his  disposition.  He  was  not  a  man 
to  allow  his  nephew  to  ruin  him.  He  had  an  extraordinarily 
old-fashioned  horror  of  gambling,  —  a  polite  habit  of  George's ; 
and  he  declared  positively  that  his  nephew  must,  while  a  bach- 
elor, learn  to  live  upon  seven  hundred  a  year.  Thirdly,  the 
admiral  could  be  a  very  stern,  stubborn,  passionate  old  brute ; 
and  when  he  coolly  told  George,  "  Harkye,  you  young  puppy, 
if  you  get  into  debt  again  —  if  you  exceed  the  very  handsome 
allowance  I  make  you  —  I  shall  just  cut  you  off  with  a  shil- 
ling," George  was  fully  aware  that  his  uncle  was  one  who 
would  rigidly  keep  his  word. 

However,  it  was  something  to  be  out  of  debt,  and  one  of 
the  handsomest  men  of  his  age;  and  George  Legard,  whose 
rank  in  the  Guards  made  him  a  colonel  in  the  line,  left  Eng- 
land tolerably  contented  with  the  state  of  affairs. 

Despite  the  foibles  of  his  youth,  George  Legard  had  many 
high  and  generous  qualities.  Society  had  done  its  best  to 
spoil  a  fine  and  candid  disposition,  with  abilities  far  above 
mediocrity;  but  society  had  only  partially  succeeded.  Still, 
unhappily,  dissipation  had  grown  a  habit  with  him;  all  his 

11 


%^  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

talents  were  of  a  nature  that  brought  a  ready  return.  At  his 
age,  it  was  but  natural  that  the  praise  of  salons  should  retain 
all  its  sweetness. 

In  addition  to  those  qualities  which  please  the  softer  sex, 
Legard  was  a  good  whist  player,  superb  at  billiards,  famous 
as  a  shot,  unrivalled  as  a  horseman,  —  in  fact,  an  accomplished 
man,  "who  did  everything  so  devilish  well!  "  These  accom- 
plishments did  not  stand  him  in  much  stead  in  Italy;  and, 
though  with  reluctance  and  remorse,  he  took  again  to  gam- 
bling, —  he  really  had  nothing  else  to  do. 

In  Venice  there  was,  one  year,  established  a  society  some- 
what on  the  principle  of  the  salon  at  Paris.  Some  rich  Vene- 
tians belonged  to  it;  but  it  was  chiefly  for  the  convenience  of 
foreigners,  —  French,  English,  and  Austrians.  Here  there 
was  select  gaming  in  one  room,  while  another  apartment 
served  the  purposes  of  a  club.  Many  who  never  played 
belonged  to  this  society ;  but  still  they  were  not  the  habitues. 

Legard  played :  he  won  at  first,  then  he  lost,  then  he  won 
again;  it  was  a  pleasant  excitement.  One  night,  after  win- 
ning largely  at  roulette,  he  sat  down  to  play  ecarte  with  a 
Frenchman  of  high  rank.  Legard  played  well  at  this,  as  at 
all  scientific  games ;  he  thought  he  should  make  a  fortune  out 
of  the  Frenchman.  The  game  excited  much  interest;  the 
crowd  gathered  round  the  table;  bets  ran  high;  the  vanity 
of  Legard,  as  well  as  his  interest,  was  implicated  in  the  con- 
flict. It  was  soon  evident  that  the  Frenchman  played  as  well 
as  the  Englishman.  The  stakes,  at  first  tolerably  high,  were 
doubled.  Legard  betted  freely.  Cards  went  against  him ;  he 
lost  much,  lost  all  that  he  had,  lost  more  than  he  had,  lost 
several  hundreds,  which  he  promised  to  pay  the  next  morn- 
ing. The  table  was  broken  up,  the  spectators  separated. 
Amongst  the  latter  had  been  one  Englishman,  introduced 
into  the  club  for  the  first  time  that  night.  He  had  neither 
played  nor  betted,  but  had  observed  the  game  with  a  quiet 
and  watchful  interest.  This  Englishman  lodged  at  the  same 
hotel  as  Legard.  He  was  at  Venice  only  for  a  day;  the  prom- 
ised sight  of  a  file  of  English  newspapers  had  drawn  him  to 
the  club;  the  general  excitement  around  had  attracted  him 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  163 

to  the  table ;  and  once  there,  the  spectacle  of  human  emotions 
exercised  its  customary  charm. 

On  ascending  the  stairs  that  conducted  to  his  apartment, 
the  Englishman  heard  a  deep  groan  in  a  room  the  door  of 
which  was  ajar.  He  paused,  the  sound  was  repeated;  he 
gently  pushed  open  the  door  and  saw  Legard  seated  by  a 
table,  while  a  glass  on  the  opposite  wall  reflected  his  working 
and  convulsed  countenance,  with  his  hands  trembling  visibly, 
as  they  took  a  brace  of  pistols  from  the  case. 

The  Englishman  recognized  the  loser  at  the  club;  and  at 
once  divined  the  act  that  his  madness  or  his  despair  dictated. 
Legard  twice  took  up  one  of  the  pistols,  and  twice  laid  it 
down  irresolute;  the  third  time  he  rose  with  a  start,  raised 
the  weapon  to  his  head,  and  the  next  moment  it  was  wrenched 
from  his  grasp. 

"  Sit  down,  sir  I  "  said  the  stranger,  in  a  loud  and  command- 
ing voice. 

Legard,  astonished  and  abashed,  sank  once  more  into  his 
seat,  and  stared  sullenly  and  half-unconsciously  at  his 
countryman. 

"You  have  lost  your  money,"  said  the  Englishman,  after 
calmly  replacing  the  pistols  in  their  case,  which  he  locked, 
putting  the  key  into  his  pocket;  "and  that  is  misfortune 
enough  for  one  night.  If  you  had  won,  and  ruined  your 
opponent,  you  would  be  excessively  happy,  and  go  to  bed, 
thinking  Good  Luck  (which  is  the  representative  of  Provi- 
dence) watched  over  you.  For  my  part,  I  think  you  ought  to 
be  very  thankful  that  you  are  not  the  winner." 

"Sir,"  said  Legard,  recovering  from  his  surprise,  and  begin- 
ning to  feel  resentment,  "  I  do  not  understand  this  intrusion 
in  my  apartments.  You  have  saved  me,  it  is  true,  from  death, 
—  but  life  is  a  worse  curse." 

"Young  man,  no!  moments  in  life  are  agony,  but  life  itself 
is  a  blessing.  Life  is  a  mystery  that  defies  all  calculation. 
You  can  never  say,  *  To-day  is  wretched,  therefore  to-morrow 
must  be  the  same ! '  And  for  the  loss  of  a  little  gold  you,  in 
the  full  vigour  of  youth,  with  all  the  future  before  you,  will 
dare  to  rush  into  the  chances  of  eternity!     You,  who  have 


164  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

never,  perhaps,  thought  what  .eternity  is!  Yet,"  added  the 
stranger,  in  a  soft  and  melancholy  voice,  "  you  are  young  and 
beautiful,  —  perhaps  the  pride  and  hope  of  others !  Have  you 
no  tie,  no  affection,  no  kindred ;  are  you  lord  of  yourself?  " 

Legard  was  moved  by  the  tone  of  the  stranger,  as  well  as 
by  the  words. 

"It  is  not  the  loss  of  money,"  said  he,  gloomily,  — "it  is 
the  loss  of  honour.  To-morrow  I  must  go  forth  a  shunned 
and  despised  man,  —  I,  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier !  They 
may  insult  me  —  and  I  have  no  reply !  " 

The  Englishman  seemed  to  muse,  for  his  brow  lowered,  and 
he  made  no  answer.  Legard  threw  himself  back,  overcome 
with  his  own  excitement,  and  wept  like  a  child.  The  stran- 
ger, who  imagined  himself  above  the  indulgence  of  emotion 
(vain  man!),  woke  from  his  revery  at  this  burst  of  passion. 
He  gazed  at  first  (I  grieve  to  write)  with  a  curl  of  the  haughty 
lip  that  had  in  it  contempt;  but  it  passed  quickly  away;  and 
the  hard  man  remembered  that  he  too  had  been  young  and 
weak,  and  his  own  errors  greater  perhaps  than  those  of  the 
one  he  had  ventured  to  despise.  He  walked  to  and  fro  the 
room,  still  without  speaking.  At  last  he  approached  the  game- 
ster, and  took  his  hand. 

"What  is  your  debt?"  he  asked  gently. 

"What  matters  it?  —  more  than  I  can  pay." 

"If  life  is  a  trust,  so  is  wealth:  you  have  the  first  in  charge 
for  others,  /  may  have  the  last.     What  is  the  debt?  " 

Legard  started ;  it  was  a  strong  struggle  between  shame  and 
hope.  "  If  I  could  borrow  it,  I  could  repay  it  hereafter,  — 
I  know  I  could;  I  would  not  think  of  it  otherwise." 

"Very  well,  so  be  it,  — I  will  lend  you  the  money  on  one 
condition.  Solemnly  promise  me,  on  your  faith  as  a  soldier 
and  a  gentleman,  that  you  will  not,  for  ten  years  to  come  — 
even  if  you  grow  rich,  and  can  ruin  others  —  touch  card  or 
dice-box.  Promise  me  that  you  will  shun  all  gaming  for 
gain,  under  whatever  disguise,  whatever  appellation.  I  will 
take  your  word  as  my  bond." 

Legard,  overjoyed,  and  scarcely  trusting  his  senses,  gave 
the  promise. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  165 

"Sleep  then,  to-night,  in  hope  and  assurance  of  the  mor- 
row,"  said  the  Englishman:  "let  this  event  be  an  omen  to 
you,  that  while  there  is  a  future  there  is  no  despair.  One 
word  more,  —  I  do  not  want  your  thanks !  it  is  easy  to  be  gen- 
erous at  the  expense  of  justice.  Perhaps  I  have  been  so  now. 
This  sum,  which  is  to  save  your  life  —  a  life  you  so  little 
value  —  might  have  blessed  fifty  human  beings,  —  better  men 
than  either  the  giver  or  receiver.  What  is  given  to  error  may 
perhaps  be  a  wrong  to  virtue.  When  you  would  ask  others 
to  support  a  career  of  blind  and  selfish  extravagance,  pause 
and  think  over  the  breadless  lips  this  wasted  gold  would  have 
fed!  the  joyless  hearts  it  would  have  comforted!  You  talk 
of  repaying  me:  if  the  occasion  offer,  do  so;  if  not  —  if  we 
never  meet  again,  and  you  have  it  in  your  power,  pay  it  for 
me  to  the  Poor!     And  now,  farewell." 

"  Stay,  —  give  me  the  name  of  my  preserver !     Mine  is  —  " 

"Hush!  what  matter  names?  This  is  a  sacrifice  we  have 
both  made  to  honour.  You  will  sooner  recover  your  self- 
esteem  (and  without  self-esteem  there  is  neither  faith  nor 
honour),  when  you  think  that  your  family,  your  connections, 
are  spared  all  association  with  your  own  error;  that  I  may 
hear  them  spoken  of,  that  I  may  mix  with  them  without 
fancying  that  they  owe  me  gratitude." 

"Your  own  name  then?"  said  Legard,  deeply  penetrated 
with  the  delicate  generosity  of  his  benefactor. 

"  Tush ! "  muttered  the  stranger  impatiently  as  he  closed 
the  door. 

The  next  morning  when  he  awoke  Legard  saw  upon  the 
table  a  small  packet;  it  contained  a  sum  that  exceeded  the 
debt  named. 

On  the  envelope  was  written,  "Remember  the  bond." 

The  stranger  had  already  quitted  Venice.  He  had  not 
travelled  through  the  Italian  cities  under  his  own  name,  for 
he  had  just  returned  from  the  solitudes  of  the  East,  and  was 
not  yet  hardened  to  the  publicity  of  the  gossip  which  in  towns 
haunted  by  his  countrymen  attended  a  well-known  name ;  that 
given  to  Legard  by  the  innkeeper,  mutilated  by  Italian  pro- 
nunciation, the  young  man  had  never  heard  before,  and  soon 


166  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

forgot.  He  paid  his  debts,  and  lie  scrupulously  kept  his 
word.  The  adventure  of  that  night  went  far,  indeed,  to 
reform  and  ennoble  the  mind  and  habits  of  Greorge  Legard. 
Time  passed,  and  he  never  met  his  benefactor,  till  in  the  halls 
of  Burleigh  he  recognized  the  stranger  in  Maltravers. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Why  value,  then,  that  strength  of  mind  they  boast, 
As  often  varying,  and  as  often  lost  "* 

Hawkins  Bkowne  {translated  by  Soame  Jbntns). 

Maltravers  was  lying  at  length,  with  his  dogs  around  him, 
under  a  beech-tree  that  threw  its  arms  over  one  of  the  calm 
still  pieces  of  water  that  relieved  the  groves  of  Burleigh, 
when  Colonel  Legard  spied  him  from  the  bridle-road  which 
led  through  the  park  to  the  house.  The  colonel  dismounted, 
threw  the  rein  over  his  arm;  and  at  the  sound  of  the  hoofs 
Maltravers  turned,  saw  the  visitor,  and  rose.  He  held  out 
his  hand  to  Legard,  and  immediately  began  talking  of  indif- 
ferent matters. 

Legard  was  embarrassed;  but  his  nature  was  not  one  to 
profit  by  the  silence  of  a  benefactor.  "Mr.  Maltravers,"  said 
he,  with  graceful  emotion,  "  though  you  have  not  yet  allowed 
me  an  opportunity  to  allude  to  it,  do  not  think  I  am  ungrate- 
ful for  the  service  you  rendered  me." 

Maltravers  looked  grave,  but  made  no  reply.  Legard 
resumed,  with  a  heightened  colour,  — 

"  I  cannot  say  how  I  regret  that  it  is  not  yet  in  my  powet 
to  discharge  my  debt ;  but  —  " 

"  When  it  is,  you  will  do  so.  Pray  think  no  more  of  it. 
Are  you  going  to  the  rectory?  " 

"No,  not  this  morning;  in  fact,  I  leave  B shire  to- 
morrow.    Pleasant  family,  the  Mertons." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  167 

"  And  Miss  Cameron  —  " 

"  Is  certainly  beautiful,  —  and  very  rich.  How  could  she 
ever  think  of  marrying  Lord  Vargrave,  so  much  older,  —  she 
who  could  have  so  many  admirers?" 

*'Not,  surely,  while  betrothed  to  another?" 

This  was  a  refinement  which  Legard,  though  an  honourable 
man  as  men  go,  did  not  quite  understand.  "Oh,"  said  he, 
"  that  was  by  some  eccentric  old  relation,  —  her  father-in-law, 
I  think.    Do  you  think  she  is  bound  by  such  an  engagement?  " 

Maltravers  made  no  reply,  but  amused  himself  by  throwing 
a  stick  into  the  water,  and  sending  one  of  his  dogs  after  it. 

Legard  looked  on,  and  his  affectionate  disposition  yearned 
to  make  advances  which  something  distant  in  the  manner  of 
Maltravers  chilled  and  repelled. 

When  Legard  was  gone,  Maltravers  followed  him  with  his 
eyes.  "  And  this  is  the  man  whom  Cleveland  thinks  Evelyn 
could  love!  I  could  forgive  her  marrying  Vargrave.  Inde- 
pendently of  the  conscientious  feeling  that  may  belong  to  the 
engagement,  Vargrave  has  wit,  talent,  intellect;  and  this  man 
has  nothing  but  the  skin  of  the  panther.  Was  I  wrong  to 
save  him?  No.  Every  human  life,  I  suppose,  has  its  uses. 
But  Evelyn  —  I  could  despise  her  if  her  heart  was  the  fool  of 
the  eye ! " 

These  comments  were  most  unjust  to  Legard ;  but  they  were 
just  of  that  kind  of  injustice  which  the  man  of  talent  often 
commits  against  the  man  of  external  advantages,  and  which 
the  latter  still  more  often  retaliates  on  the  man  of  talent. 
As  Maltravers  thus  soliloquized,  he  was  accosted  by  Mr. 
Cleveland. 

"  Come,  Ernest,  you  must  not  cut  these  unfortunate  Mertons 
any  longer.  If  you  continue  to  do  so,  do  you  know  what  Mrs. 
Hare  and  the  world  will  say?" 

«  No  — what?" 

"That  you  have  been  refused  by  Miss  Merton." 

"  That  would  be  a  calumny !  "  said  Ernest,  smiling. 

"Or  that  you  are  hopelessly  in  love  with  Miss  Cameron." 

Maltravers  started ;  his  proud  heart  swelled ;  he  pulled  his 
hat  over  his  brows,  and  said,  after  a  short  pause,  — 


168  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Hare  and  the  world  must  not  have  it  all  their 
own  way;  and  so,  whenever  you  go  to  the  rectory,  take  me 
with  you." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

The  more  he  strove 
To  advance  his  suit,  the  farther  from  her  love. 

Dkydbn  :  Theodore  and  Honoria. 

The  line  of  conduct  which  Vargrave  now  adopted  with 
regard  to  Evelyn  was  craftily  conceived  and  carefully  pur- 
sued. He  did  not  hazard  a  single  syllable  which  might  draw 
on  him  a  rejection  of  his  claims;  but  at  the  same  time  no  lover 
could  be  more  constant,  more  devoted,  in  attentions.  In  the 
presence  of  others,  there  was  an  air  of  familiar  intimacy  that 
seemed  to  arrogate  a  right,  which  to  her  he  scrupulously 
shunned  to  assert.  Nothing  could  be  more  respectful,  nay, 
more  timid,  than  his  language,  or  more  calmly  confident  than 
his  manner.  Not  having  much  vanity,  nor  any  very  acute 
self-conceit,  he  did  not  delude  himself  into  the  idea  of  win- 
ning Evelyn's  affections;  he  rather  sought  to  entangle  her 
judgment,  to  weave  around  her  web  upon  web,  —  not  the  less 
dangerous  for  being  invisible.  He  took  the  compact  as  a 
matter  of  course,  as  something  not  to  be  broken  by  any  possi- 
ble chance;  her  hand  was  to  be  his  as  a  right:  it  was  her 
heart  that  he  so  anxiously  sought  to  gain.  But  this  distinc- 
tion was  so  delicately  drawn,  and  insisted  upon  so  little  in 
any  tangible  form,  that,  whatever  Evelyn's  wishes  for  an 
understanding,  a  much  more  experienced  woman  would  have 
been  at  a  loss  to  ripen  one. 

Evelyn  longed  to  confide  in  Caroline,  to  consult  her;  but 
Caroline,  though  still  kind,  had  grown  distant.  "I  wish," 
said  Evelyn,  one  night  as  she  sat  in  Caroline's  dressing-room, 
—  "I  wish  that  I  knew  what  tone  to  take  with  Lord  Vargrave. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES.  169 

I  feel  more  and  more  convinced  that  a  union  between  us  is 
impossible;  and  yet,  precisely  because  he  does  not  press  it, 
am  I  unable  to  tell  him  so.  I  wish  you  could  undertake  that 
task;  you  seem  such  friends  with  him." 

"  I !  "  said  Caroline,  changing  countenance. 

"  Yes,  you !  Nay,  do  not  blush,  or  I  shall  think  you  envy 
me.  Could  you  not  save  us  both  from  the  pain  that  otherwise 
must  come  sooner  or  later?  " 

"Lord  Vargrave  would  not  thank  me  for  such  an  act  of 
friendship.  Besides,  Evelyn,  consider,  —  it  is  scarcely  possi- 
ble to  break  off  this  engagement  now.^' 

"Ifow/  and  why  now?"  said  Evelyn,  astonished. 

"The  world  believes  it  so  implicitly.  Observe,  whoever 
sits  next  you  rises  if  Lord  Vargrave  approaches;  the  neigh- 
bourhood talk  of  nothing  else  but  your  marriage;  and  your 
fate,  Evelyn,  is  not  pitied." 

"  I  will  leave  this  place !  I  will  go  back  to  the  cottage !  I 
cannot  bear  this!"  said  Evelyn,  passionately  wringing  her 
hands. 

"  You  do  not  love  another,  I  am  sure :  not  young  Mr.  Hare, 
with  his  green  coat  and  straw-coloured  whiskers ;  or  Sir  Henry 
Foxglove,  with  his  how-d'ye-do  like  a  view-halloo;  perhaps, 
indeed.  Colonel  Legard,  —  he  is  handsome.  What !  do  you 
blush  at  his  name?  No;  you  say  'not  Legard:'  who  else 
is  there?" 

"  You  are  cruel ;  you  trifle  with  me !  "  said  Evelyn,  in  tear- 
ful reproach;  and  she  rose  to  go  to  her  own  room. 

"My  dear  girl!"  said  Caroline,  touched  by  her  evident 
pain ;  "  learn  from  me  —  if  I  may  say  so  —  that  marriages  are 
not  made  in  heaven !  Yours  will  be  as  fortunate  as  earth  can 
bestow.  A  love-match  is  usually  the  least  happy  of  all.  Our 
foolish  sex  demand  so  much  in  love;  and  love,  after  all,  is 
but  one  blessing  among  many.  Wealth  and  rank  remain 
when  love  is  but  a  heap  of  ashes.  For  my  part,  I  have 
chosen  my  destiny  and  my  husband." 

"  Your  husband !  " 

"  Yes,  you  see  him  in  Lord  Doltimore.  I  dare  say  we  shall 
be  as  happy  as  any  amorous  Corydon  and  Phyllis."    But  there 


170  ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES, 

was  irony  in  Caroline's  voice  as  she  spoke;  and  she  sighed 
heavily.  Evelyn  did  not  believe  her  serious  j  and  the  friends 
parted  for  the  night. 

"Mine  is  a  strange  fate!  "  said  Caroline  to  herself;  "I  am 
asked  by  the  man  whom  I  love,  and  who  professes  to  love  me, 
to  bestow  myself  on  another,  and  to  plead  for  him  to  a  younger 
and  fairer  bride.  Well,  I  will  obey  him  in  the  first;  the  last 
is  a  bitterer  task,  and  I  cannot  perform  it  earnestly.  Yet  Var- 
grave  has  a  strange  power  over  me ;  and  when  I  look  round 
the  world,  I  see  that  he  is  right.  In  these  most  commonplace 
artifices,  there  is  yet  a  wild  majesty  that  charms  and  fasci- 
nates me.  It  is  something  to  rule  the  world:  and  his  and 
mine  are  natures  formed  to  do  so." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  SHOKG  raised  with  the  fame  of  sighs. 

Romeo  and  Juliet, 

It  is  certain  that  Evelyn  experienced  for  Maltravers  senti- 
ments which,  if  not  love,  might  easily  be  mistaken  for  it. 
But  whether  it  were  that  master-passion,  or  merely  its  fanci- 
ful resemblance,  —  love  in  early  youth  and  innocent  natures, 
if  of  sudden  growth,  is  long  before  it  makes  itself  apparent, 
Evelyn  had  been  prepared  to  feel  an  interest  in  her  solitary 
neighbour.  His  mind,  as  developed  in  his  works,  had  half 
formed  her  own.  Her  childish  adventure  with  the  stranger 
had  never  been  forgotten.  Her  present  knowledge  of  Mal- 
travers was  an  union  of  dangerous  and  often  opposite  associa- 
tions, —  the  Ideal  and  the  Real. 

Love,  in  its  first  dim  and  imperfect  shape,  is  but  imagina- 
tion concentrated  on  one  object.  It  is  a  genius  of  the  heart, 
resembling  that  of  the  intellect;  it  appeals  to,  it  stirs  up,  it 
evokes,  the  sentiments  and  sympathies  that  lie  most  latent  in 
our  nature.  Its  sigh  is  the  spirit  that  moves  over  the  ocean, 
and  arouses  the  Anadyomene  into  life.     Therefore  is  it  that 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  171 

MIND  produces  affections  deeper  than  those  of  external  form; 
therefore  it  is  that  women  are  worshippers  of  glory,  which  is 
the  palpable  and  visible  representative  of  a  genius  whose 
operations  they  cannot  always  comprehend.  Genius  has  so 
much  in  common  with  love,  the  imagination  that  animates 
one  is  so  much  the  property  of  the  other,  that  there  is  not  a 
surer  sign  of  the  existence  of  genius  than  the  love  that  it 
creates  and  bequeaths.  It  penetrates  deeper  than  the  reason, 
it  binds  a  nobler  captive  than  the  fancy.  As  the  sun  upon 
the  dial,  it  gives  to  the  human  heart  both  its  shadow  and  its 
light.  Nations  are  its  worshippers  and  wooers;  and  Posterity 
learns  from  its  oracles  to  dream,  to  aspire,  to  adore! 

Had  Maltravers  declared  the  passion  that  consumed  him,  it 
is  probable  that  it  would  soon  have  kindled  a  return.  But  his 
frequent  absence,  his  sustained  distance  of  manner,  had  served 
to  repress  the  feelings  that  in  a  young  and  virgin  heart  rarely 
flow  with  much  force  until  they  are  invited  and  aroused.  Le 
hesoin  d^ aimer  in  girls,  is,  perhaps,  in  itself  powerful ;  but  is 
fed  by  another  want,  le  besoin  d'etre  aime  /  If,  therefore, 
Evelyn  at  present  felt  love  for  Maltravers,  the  love  had  cer- 
tainly not  passed  into  the  core  of  life:  the  tree  had  not  so  far 
struck  its  roots  but  what  it  might  have  borne  transplanting. 
There  was  in  her  enough  of  the  pride  of  sex  to  have  recoiled 
from  the  thought  of  giving  love  to  one  who  had  not  asked  the 
treasure.  Capable  of  attachment,  more  trustful  and  there- 
fore, if  less  vehement,  more  beautiful  and  durable  than  that 
which  had  animated  the  brief  tragedy  of  Florence  Lascelles, 
she  could  not  have  been  the  unknown  correspondent,  or 
revealed  the  soul,  because  the  features  wore  a  mask. 

It  must  also  be  allowed  that,  in  some  respects,  Evelyn  was 
too  young  and  inexperienced  thoroughly  to  appreciate  all  that 
was  most  truly  lovable  and  attractive  in  Maltravers.  At  four 
and  twenty  she  would,  perhaps,  have  felt  no  fear  mingled  with  • 
her  respect  for  him;  but  seventeen  and  six  and  thirty  is  a  wide 
interval!  She  never  felt  that  there  was  that  difference  in 
years  until  she  had  met  Legard,  and  then  at  once  she  compre- 
hended it.  With  Legard  she  had  moved  on  equal  terms ;  he 
was  not  too  wise,  too  high  for  her  everyday  thoughts.     He 


172  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

less  excited  her  imagination,  less  attracted  her  reverence. 
But,  somehow  or  other,  that  voice  which  proclaimed  her 
power,  those  eyes  which  never  turned  from  hers,  went  nearer 
to  her  heart.  As  Evelyn  had  once  said  to  Caroline,  "  It  was 
a  great  enigma!  "  —  her  own  feelings  were  a  mystery  to  her 5 
and  she  reclined  by  the  "  Golden  Waterfalls  "  without  tracing 
her  likeness  in  the  glass  of  the  pool  below. 

Maltravers  appeared  again  at  the  rectory.  He  joined  their 
parties  by  day,  and  his  evenings  were  spent  with  them  as  of 
old.  In  this  I  know  not  precisely  what  were  his  motives  — 
perhaps  he  did  not  know  them  himself.  It  might  be  that  his 
pride  was  roused;  it  might  be  that  he  could  not  endure  the 
notion  that  Lord  Vargrave  should  guess  his  secret  by  an  ab- 
sence almost  otherwise  unaccountable,  —  he  could  not  patiently 
bear  to  give  Vargrave  that  triumph;  it  might  be  that,  in  the 
sternness  of  his  self-esteem,  he  imagined  he  had  already  con- 
quered all  save  affectionate  interest  in  Evelyn's  fate,  and 
trusted  too  vainly  to  his  own  strength ;  and  it  might  be,  also, 
that  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  seeing  if  Evelyn 
were  contented  with  her  lot,  and  if  Vargrave  were  worthy  of 
the  blessing  that  awaited  him.  Whether  one  of  these  or  all 
united  made  him  resolve  to  brave  his  danger,  or  whether,  after 
all,  he  yielded  to  a  weakness,  or  consented  to  what  —  invited 
by  Evelyn  herself  —  was  almost  a  social  necessity,  the  reader 
and  not  the  narrator  shall  decide. 

Legard  was  gone;  but  Doltimore  remained  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, having  hired  a  hunting-box  not  far  from  Sir  John 
Merton's  manors,  over  which  he  easily  obtained  permission 
to  sport.  When  he  did  not  dine  elsewhere,  there  was  always 
a  place  for  him  at  the  parson's  hospitable  board,  —  and  that 
place  was  generally  next  to  Caroline.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merton 
had  given  up  all  hope  of  Mr.  Maltravers  for  their  eldest 
daughter;  and,  very  strangely,  this  conviction  came  upon 
their  minds  on  the  tirst  day  they  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  young  lord. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  rector,  as  he  was  winding  up  his 
watch,  preparatory  to  entering  the  connubial  couch,  — "  my 
dear,  I  don't  think  Mr.  Maltravers  is  a  marrying  man." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES.  173 

"I  was  just  going  to  make  the  same  remark,"  said  Mrs. 
Merton,  drawing  the  clothes  over  her.  "Lord  Doltimore  is  a 
very  fine  young  man,  his  estates  unencumbered.  I  like  him 
vastly,  my  love.  He  is  evidentl}'-  smitten  with  Caroline :  so 
Lord  Vargrave  and  Mrs.  Hare  said." 

"  Sensible,  shrewd  woman,  Mrs.  Hare.  By  the  by,  we  '11 
send  her  a  pineapple.  Caroline  was  made  to  be  a  woman  of 
rank!" 

"Quite;  so  much  self-possession!" 

"  And  if  Mr.  Maltravers  would  sell  or  let  Burleigh  —  " 

"  It  would  be  so  pleasant!  " 

*'  Had  you  not  better  give  Caroline  a  hint?  " 

"My  love,  she  is  so  sensible,  let  her  go  her  own  way." 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  Betsy ;  I  shall  always  say  that  no 
one  has  more  common-sense  than  you;  you  have  brought  up 
your  children  admirably !  " 

"  Dear  Charles !  " 

"It  is  coldish  to-night,  love,"  said  the  rector;  and  he  put 
out  the  candle. 

From  that  time,  it  was  not  the  fault  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Merton  if  Lord  Doltimore  did  not  find  their  house  the  pleas- 
antest  in  the  county. 

One  evening  the  rectory  party  were  assembled  together  in 
the  cheerful  drawing-room.  Cleveland,  Mr,  Merton,  Sir 
John,  and  Lord  Vargrave,  reluctantly  compelled  to  make 
up  the  fourth,  were  at  the  whist-table;  Evelyn,  Caroline, 
and  Lord  Doltimore  were  seated  round  the  fire,  and  Mrs. 
Merton  was  working  a  footstool.  The  fire  burned  clear,  the 
curtains  were  down,  the  children  in  bed :  it  was  a  family  pict- 
ure of  elegant  comfort. 

Mr.  Maltravers  was  announced. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  come  at  last,"  said  Caroline,  hold- 
ing out  her  fair  hand.  "  Mr.  Cleveland  could  not  answer  for 
you.  We  are  all  disputing  as  to  which  mode  of  life  is  the 
happiest." 

"And  your  opinion?"  asked  Maltravers,  seating  himself  in 
the  vacant  chair,  —  it  chanced  to  be  next  to  Evelyn's. 

"  My  opinion  is  decidedly  in  favour  of  London.     A  metro- 


174  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

politan  life,  with  its  perpetual  and  graceful  excitements,  — 
the  best  music,  the  best  companions,  the  best  things  in  short. 
Provincial  life  is  so  dull,  its  pleasures  so  tiresome;  to  talk 
over  the  last  year's  news,  and  wear  out  one's  last  year's 
dresses,  cultivate  a  conservatory,  and  play  Pope  Joan  with  a 
young  party,  —  dreadful !  " 

"I  agree  with  Miss  Merton,"  said  Lord  Doltimore,  solemnly; 
"  not  but  what  I  like  the  country  for  three  or  four  months  in 
the  year,  with  good  shooting  and  hunting,  and  a  large  house 
properly  filled,  independent  of  one's  own  neighbourhood:  but 
if  I  am  condemned  to  choose  one  place  to  live  in,  give  me 
Paris." 

"Ah,  Paris;  I  never  was  in  Paris.  I  should  so  like  to 
travel !  "  said  Caroline. 

"  But  the  inns  abroad  are  so  very  bad, "  said  Lord  Doltimore ; 
"how  people  can  rave  about  Italy,  I  can't  think.  I  never  suf- 
fered so  much  in  my  life  as  I  did  in  Calabria;  and  at  Venice 
I  was  bit  to  death  by  mosquitoes.  Nothing  like  Paris,  I 
assure  you:  don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Maltravers?" 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  answer  you  better  in  a  short 
time.     I  think  of  accompanying  Mr.  Cleveland  to  Paris  I  " 

"Indeed!"  said  Caroline.  "Well,  I  envy  you;  but  is  it  a 
sudden  resolution?" 

"Not  very." 

"Do  you  stay  long?"  asked  Lord  Doltimore. 

"  My  stay  is  uncertain. " 

"And  you  won't  let  Burleigh  in  the  meanwhile?" 

^^ Let  Burleigh?  No;  if  it  once  pass  from  my  hands  it  will 
be  forever ! " 

Maltravers  spoke  gravely,  and  the  subject  was  changed. 
Lord  Doltimore  challenged  Caroline  to  chess. 

They  sat  down,  and  Lord  Doltimore  arranged  the  pieces. 

"Sensible  man,  Mr.  Maltravers,"  said  the  young  lord;  "but 
I  don't  hit  it  off  with  him:  Vargrave  is  more  agreeable. 
Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Y— e— s." 

"  Lord  Vargrave  is  very  kind  to  me,  —  I  never  remember 
any  one  being  more  so ;  got  Legard  that  appointment  solely 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  176 

because  it  would  please  me,  —  very  friendly  fellow !  I  mean 
to  put  myself  under  his  wing  next  session!  " 

"  You  could  not  do  better,  I  'm  sure, "  said  Caroline ;  *'  he  is 
so  much  looked  up  to ;  I  dare  say  he  will  be  prime  minister 
one  of  these  days." 

"I  take  the  bishop:  —  do  you  think  so  really?  —  you  are 
rather  a  politician?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  much  of  that.  But  my  father  and  my  uncle 
are  stanch  politicians;  gentlemen  know  so  much  more  than 
ladies.  We  should  always  go  by  their  opinions.  I  think  I 
will  take  the  queen's  pawn  —  your  politics  are  the  same  as 
Lord  Vargrave's?" 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  so :  at  least  I  shall  leave  my  proxy  with  him. 
Glad  you  don't  like  politics,  — great  bore." 

"Why,  so  young,  so  connected  as  you  are  — "  Caroline 
stopped  short,  and  made  a  wrong  move. 

"  I  wish  we  were  going  to  Paris  together,  we  should  enjoy 
it  so;"  and  Lord  Doltimore's  knight  checked  the  tower  and 
queen. 

Caroline  coughed,  and  stretched  her  hand  quickly  to  move. 

"  Pardon  me,  you  will  lose  the  game  if  you  do  so ! "  and 
Doltimore  placed  his  hand  on  hers,  their  eyes  met,  Caroline 
turned  away,  and  Lord  Doltimore  settled  his  right  collar. 

"And  is  it  true?  are  you  really  going  to  leave  us?"  said 
Evelyn,  and  she  felt  very  sad.  But  still  the  sadness  might 
not  be  that  of  love,  —  she  had  felt  sad  after  Legard  had  gone. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  long  stay  away, "  said  Maltravers, 
trying  to  speak  indifferently.  "Burleigh  has  become  more 
dear  to  me  than  it  was  in  earlier  youth ;  perhaps  because  I 
have  made  myself  duties  there :  and  in  other  places  I  am  but 
an  isolated  and  useless  unit  in  the  great  mass." 

"You!  everywhere,  you  must  have  occupations  and  re- 
sources, —  everywhere,  you  must  find  yourself  not  alone. 
But  you  will  not  go  yet?" 

"Not  yet:  no.  [Evelyn's  spirits  rose.]  Have  you  read 
the  book  I  sent  you?"  (It  was  one  of  De  Stael's.) 

"Yes;  but  it  disappoints  me." 


176  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"And  why?     It  is  eloquent." 

"But  is  it  true?  Is  there  so  much  melancholy  in  life? 
Are  the  affections  so  full  of  bitterness?  For  me,  I  am  so 
happy  when  with  those  I  love!  When  I  am  with  my  mother, 
the  air  seems  more  fragrant,  the  skies  more  blue :  it  is  surely 
not  affection,  but  the  absence  of  it,  that  makes  us  melancholy. " 

"Perhaps  so;  but  if  we  had  never  known  affection,  we 
might  not  miss  it:  and  the  brilliant  Frenchwoman  speaks 
from  memory,  while  you  speak  from  hope,  —  memory,  which 
is  the  ghost  of  joy:  yet  surely,  even  in  the  indulgence  of 
affection,  there  is  at  times  a  certain  melancholy,  a  certain 
fear.  Have  you  never  felt  it,  even  with  —  with  your 
mother?  " 

"  Ah,  yes !  when  she  suffered,  or  when  I  have  thought  she 
loved  me  less  than  I  desired." 

"That  must  have  been  an  idle  and  vain  thought.  Your 
mother!  does  she  resemble  you?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so.  Oh,  if  you  knew  her !  I  have 
longed  so  often  that  you  were  acquainted  with  each  other !  It 
was  she  who  taught  me  to  sing  your  songs." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Hare,  we  may  as  well  throw  up  our  cards," 
said  the  keen  clear  voice  of  Lord  Vargrave :  "  you  have  played 
most  admirably,  and  I  know  that  your  last  card  will  be  the 
ace  of  trumps;  still  the  luck  is  against  us." 

"No,  no;  pray  play  it  out,  my  lord." 

"Quite  useless,  ma'am,"  said  Sir  John,  showing  two  hon- 
ours.    "We  have  only  the  trick  to  make." 

"Quite  useless,"  echoed  Lumley,  tossing  down  his  sover- 
eigns, and  rising  with  a  careless  yawn. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Maltravers?" 

Maltravers  rose;  and  Vargrave  turned  to  Evelyn,  and 
addressed  her  in  a  whisper.  The  proud  Maltravers  walked 
away,  and  suppressed  a  sigh;  a  moment  more,  and  he  saw 
Lord  Vargrave  occupying  the  chair  he  had  left  vacant.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  Cleveland's  shoulder. 

"  The  carriage  is  waiting,  —  are  you  ready?  " 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  177 


CHAPTER  X. 
Obscubis  vera  involvens.^  —  Vibgil. 

A  DAY  or  two  after  the  date  of  the  last  chapter,  Evelyn  and 
Caroline  were  riding  out  with  Lord  Vargrave  and  Mr.  Merton, 
and  on  returning  home  they  passed  through  the  village  of 
Burleigh. 

"Maltravers,  I  suppose,  has  an  eye  to  the  county  one  of 
these  days, "  said  Lord  Vargrave,  who  honestly  fancied  that  a 
man's  eyes  were  always  directed  towards  something  for  his 
own  interest  or  advancement;  "otherwise  he  could  not  surely 
take  all  this  trouble  about  workhouses  and  paupers.  Who 
could  ever  have  imagined  my  romantic  friend  would  sink  into 
a  country  squire?  " 

"  It  is  astonishing  what  talent  and  energy  he  throws  into 
everything  he  attempts,"  said  the  parson.  "One  could  not, 
indeed,  have  supposed  that  a  man  of  genius  could  make  a  man 
of  business." 

"  Flattering  to  your  humble  servant  —  whom  all  the  world 
allow  to  be  the  last,  and  deny  to  be  the  first.  But  your 
remark  shows  what  a  sad  possession  genius  is :  like  the  rest 
of  the  world,  you  fancy  that  it  cannot  be  of  the  least  possible 
use.  If  a  man  is  called  a  genius,  it  means  that  he  is  to  be 
thrust  out  of  all  the  good  things  in  this  life.  He  is  not  fit  for 
anything  but  a  garret!  Put  a  genius  into  office !  make  a  genius 
a  bishop !  or  a  lord  chancellor !  —  the  world  would  be  turned 
topsy  turvy!  You  see  that  you  are  quite  astonished  that  a 
genius  can  be  even  a  county  magistrate,  and  know  the  differ- 
ence between  a  spade  and  a  poker!  In  fact,  a  genius  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  most  ignorant,  impracticable,  good-for-nothing, 
do-nothing  sort  of  thing  that  ever  walked  upon  two  legs. 
Well,  when  I  began  life  I  took  excellent  care  that  nobody 
should  take  me  for  a  genius;  and  it  is  only  within  the  last 
1  "  Wrapping  truth  in  obscurity." 
12 


178  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

year  or  two  tliat  I  ventured  to  emerge  a  little  out  of  my  shell. 
I  have  not  been  the  better  for  it;  I  was  getting  on  faster  while 
I  was  merely  a  plodder.  The  world  is  so  fond  of  that  droll 
fable,  the  hare  and  the  tortoise,  —  it  really  believes  because 
(I  suppose  the  fable  to  be  true !)  a  tortoise  once  beat  a  hare 
that  all  tortoises  are  much  better  runners  than  hares  possibly 
can  be.  Mediocre  men  have  the  monopoly  of  the  loaves  and 
fishes;  and  even  when  talent  does  rise  in  life,  it  is  a  talent 
which  only  differs  from  mediocrity  by  being  more  energetic 
and  bustling." 

"You  are  bitter.  Lord  Vargrave,"  said  Caroline,  laughing; 
"yet  surely  you  have  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  the  non- 
appreciation  of  talent?  " 

"  Humph !  if  I  had  had  a  grain  more  talent  I  should  have 
been  crushed  by  it.  There  is  a  subtle  allegory  in  the  story  of 
the  lean  poet,  who  put  lead  in  his  pocket  to  prevent  being 
blown  away !  *  Mais  k  nos  moutons, '  —  to  return  to  Mal- 
travers.  Let  us  suppose  that  he  was  merely  clever,  had  not 
had  a  particle  of  what  is  called  genius,  been  merely  a  hard- 
working able  gentleman,  of  good  character  and  fortune,  he 
might  be  half-way  up  the  hill  by  this  time;  whereas  now, 
what  is  he?  Less  before  the  public  than  he  was  at  twenty- 
eight,  —  a  discontented  anchorite,  a  meditative  idler." 

"No,  not  that,"  said  Evelyn,  warmly,  and  then  checked 
herself. 

Lord  Vargrave  looked  at  her  sharply;  but  his  knowledge  of 
life  told  him  that  Legard  was  a  much  more  dangerous  rival 
than  Maltravers.  Now  and  then,  it  is  true,  a  suspicion  to 
the  contrary  crossed  him;  but  it  did  not  take  root  and  become 
a  serious  apprehension.  Still,  he  did  not  quite  like  the  tone 
of  voice  in  which  Evelyn  had  put  her  abrupt  negative,  and 
said,  with  a  slight  sneer,  — 

"If  not  that,  what  is  he?" 

"  One  who  purchased  by  the  noblest  exertions  the  right  to 
be  idle,"  said  Evelyn  with  spirit;  "and  whom  genius  itself 
will  not  suffer  to  be  idle  long." 

"Besides,"  said  Mr.  Merton,  "he  has  won  a  high  reputation, 
which  he  cannot  lose  merely  by  not  seeking  to  increase  it." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  179 

" Reputation  1  Oh,  yes!  we  give  men  like  that  —  men  of 
genius  —  a  large  property  in  the  clouds,  in  order  to  justify 
ourselves  in  pushing  them  out  of  our  way  below.  But  if  they 
are  contented  with  fame,  why,  they  deserve  their  fate.  Hang 
fame,  — give  me  power." 

"And  is  there  no  power  in  genius?"  said  Evelyn,  with 
deepening  fervour;  "no  power  over  the  mind,  and  the  heart, 
and  the  thought;  no  power  over  its  own  time,  over  posterity, 
over  nations  yet  uncivilized,  races  yet  unborn?  " 

This  burst  from  one  so  simple  and  young  as  Evelyn  seemed 
to  Vargrave  so  surprising  that  he  stared  on  her  without  saying 
a  word. 

"You  will  laugh  at  my  championship,"  she  added,  with  a 
blush  and  a  smile;  "but  you  provoked  the  encounter." 

"And  you  have  won  the  battle,"  said  Vargrave,  with  prompt 
gallantry.  "  My  charming  ward,  every  day  develops  in  you 
some  new  gift  of  nature!  " 

Caroline,  with  a  movement  of  impatience,  put  her  horse 
into  a  canter. 

Just  at  this  time,  from  a  cross-road,  emerged  a  horseman, 
—  it  was  Maltravers.  The  party  halted,  salutations  were 
exchanged. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  enjoying  the  sweet  business  of 
squiredom,"  said  Vargrave,  gayly:  "Atticus  and  his  farm, — 
classical  associations !  Charming  weather  for  the  agricultur- 
ists, eh!  What  news  about  corn  and  barley?  I  suppose  our 
English  habit  of  talking  on  the  weather  arose  when  we  were 
all  a  squirearchal  farming,  George-the-Third  kind  of  people! 
Weather  is  really  a  serious  matter  to  gentlemen  who  are  inter- 
ested in  beans  and  vetches,  wheat  and  hay.  You  hang  your 
happiness  upon  the  changes  of  the  moon !  " 

"  As  you  upon  the  smiles  of  a  minister.  The  weather  of  a 
court  is  more  capricious  than  that  of  the  skies,  —  at  least  we 
are  better  husbandmen  than  you  who  sow  the  wind  and  reap 
the  whirlwind." 

"  Well  retorted :  and  really,  when  I  look  round,  I  am  half 
inclined  to  envy  you.  Were  I  not  Vargrave,  I  would  be 
Maltravers." 


180  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  scene  tliat  seemed  quiet  and  serene,  with, 
the  English  union  of  the  feudal  and  the  pastoral  life,  —  the 
village-green,  with  its  trim  scattered  cottages ;  the  fields  and 
pastures  that  spread  beyond;  the  turf  of  the  park  behind, 
broken  by  the  shadows  of  the  unequal  grounds,  with  its 
mounds  and  hollows  and  venerable  groves,  from  which  rose 
the  turrets  of  the  old  Hall,  its  muUion  windows  gleaming  in 
the  western  sun;  a  scene  that  preached  tranquillity  and  con- 
tent, and  might  have  been  equally  grateful  to  humble  philoso- 
phy and  hereditary  pride. 

"I  never  saw  any  place  so  peculiar  in  its  character  as 
Burleigh,"  said  the  rector;  "the  old  seats  left  to  us  in 
England  are  chiefly  those  of  our  great  nobles.  It  is  so  rare 
to  see  one  that  does  not  aspire  beyond  the  residence  of  a  pri- 
vate gentleman  preserve  all  the  relics  of  the  Tudor  age." 

"  I  think, "  said  Vargrave,  turning  to  Evelyn,  "  that  as  by 
my  uncle's  will  your  fortune  is  to  be  laid  out  in  the  purchase 
of  land,  we  could  not  find  a  better  investment  than  Burleigh. 
So,  whenever  you  are  inclined  to  sell,  Maltravers,  I  think  we 
must  outbid  Doltimore.     What  say  you,  my  fair  ward?" 

"  Leave  Burleigh  in  peace,  I  beseech  you !  "  said  Maltravers, 
angrily. 

"That  is  said  like  a  Digby,"  returned  Vargrave.  " Allans ! 
—  will  you  not  come  home  with  us?" 

"I  thank  you,  — not  to-day." 

"We  meet  at  Lord  Kaby's  next  Thursday.  It  is  a  ball 
given  almost  wholly  in  honour  of  your  return  to  Burleigh; 
we  are  all  going,  —  it  is  my  young  cousin's  debut  at  Knares- 
dean.     We  have  all  an  interest  in  her  conquests." 

Now,  as  Maltravers  looked  up  to  answer,  he  caught  Evelyn's 
glance,  and  his  voice  faltered. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  shall  meet  —  once  again.  Adieu!" 
He  wheeled  round  his  horse,  and  they  separated. 

"I  can  bear  this  no  more,"  said  Maltravers  to  himself;  "I 
overrated  my  strength.  To  see  her  thus,  day  after  day,  and. 
to  know  her  another's,  to  writhe  beneath  his  calm,  uncon- 
scious assertion  of  his  rights !  Happy  Vargrave !  —  and  yet, 
ah!  will  she  be  happy?    Oh,  could  I  think  so!  " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  181 

Thus  soliloquizing,  he  suffered  the  rein  to  fall  on  the  neck 
of  his  horse,  which  paced  slowly  home  through  the  village, 
till  it  stopped  —  as  if  in  the  mechanism  of  custom  —  at  the 
door  of  a  cottage  a  stone's  throw  from  the  lodge.  At  this 
door,  indeed,  for  several  successive  days,  had  Maltravers 
stopped  regularly  J  it  was  now  tenanted  by  the  poor  woman 
his  introduction  to  whom  has  been  before  narrated.  She 
had  recovered  from  the  immediate  effects  of  the  injury  she 
had  sustained;  but  her  constitution,  greatly  broken  by  previ- 
ous suffering  and  exhaustion,  had  received  a  mortal  shock. 
She  was  hurt  inwardly;  and  the  surgeon  informed  Maltravers 
that  she  had  not  many  months  to  live.  He  had  placed  her 
under  the  roof  of  one  of  his  favourite  cottagers,  where  she 
received  all  the  assistance  and  alleviation  that  careful  nursing 
and  medical  advice  could  give  her. 

This  poor  woman,  whose  name  was  Sarah  Elton,  interested 
Maltravers  much.  She  had  known  better  days :  there  was  a 
certain  propriety  in  her  expressions  which  denoted  an  educa- 
tion superior  to  her  circumstances;  and  what  touched  Mal- 
travers most,  she  seemed  far  more  to  feel  her  husband's  death 
than  her  own  sufferings, — which,  somehow  or  other,  is  not 
common  with  widows  the  other  side  of  forty !  We  say  that 
youth  easily  consoles  itself  for  the  robberies  of  the  grave,  — 
middle  age  is  a  still  better  self -comforter.  When  Mrs.  Elton 
found  herself  installed  in  the  cottage,  she  looked  round,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  And  William  is  not  here !  "  she  said.  "  Eriends  —  friends ! 
if  we  had  had  but  one  such  friend  before  he  died! " 

Maltravers  was  pleased  that  her  first  thought  was  rather 
that  of  sorrow  for  the  dead  than  of  gratitude  for  the  living. 
Yet  Mrs.  Elton  was  grateful,  —  simply,  honestly,  deeply 
grateful;  her  manner,  her  voice,  betokened  it.  And  she 
seemed  so  glad  when  her  benefactor  called  to  speak  kindly 
and  inquire  cordially,  that  Maltravers  did  so  constantly;  at 
first  from  a  compassionate  and  at  last  from  a  selfish  motive  — 
for  who  is  not  pleased  to  give  pleasure?  And  Maltravers  had 
so  few  in  the  world  to  care  for  him,  that  perhaps  he  was  flat- 
tered by  the  grateful  respect  of  this  humble  stranger. 


182  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

When  his  horse  stopped,  the  cottager's  daughter  opened  the 
door  and  courtesied,  —  it  was  an  invitation  to  enter ;  and  he 
threw  his  rein  over  the  paling  and  walked  into  the  cottage. 

Mrs.  Elton,  who  had  been  seated  by  the  open  casement,  rose 
to  receive  him.  But  Maltravers  made  her  sit  down,  and  soon 
put  her  at  her  ease.  The  woman  and  her  daughter  who  occu- 
pied the  cottage  retired  into  the  garden,  and  Mrs.  Elton, 
watching  them  withdraw,  then  exclaimed  abruptly,  — 

"Oh,  sir,  I  have  so  longed  to  see  you  this  morning!  I  so 
long  to  make  bold  to  ask  you  whether,  indeed,  I  dreamed  it 

—  or  did  I,  when  you  first  took  me  to  your  house  —  did  I 
see  — "  She  stopped  abruptly;  and  though  she  strove  to 
suppress  her  emotion,  it  was  too  strong  for  her  efforts,  —  she 
sank  back  on  her  chair,  pale  as  death,  and  almost  gasped  for 
breath. 

Maltravers  waited  in  surprise  for  her  recovery. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  —  I  was  thinking  of  days  long  past ;  and 

—  but  I  wished  to  ask  whether,  when  I  lay  in  your  hall,  almost 
insensible,  any  one  besides  yourself  and  your  servants  were 
present?  —  or  was  it "  —  added  the  woman,  with  a  shudder  — 
"was  it  the  dead?" 

"  I  remember, "  said  Maltravers,  much  struck  and  interested 
in  her  question  and  manner,  "that  a  lady  was  present." 

" It  is  so!  it  is  so!  "  cried  the  woman,  half  rising  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands.  "And  she  passed  by  this  cottage  a  little  time 
ago ;  her  veil  was  thrown  aside  as  she  turned  that  fair  young 
face  towards  the  cottage.  Her  name,  sir,  —  oh,  what  is  her 
name?  It  was  the  same  —  the  same  face  that  shone  across  me 
in  that  hour  of  pain!     I  did  not  dream!     I  was  not  mad!  " 

"Compose  yourself;  you  could  never,  I  think,  have  seen 
that  lady  before.     Her  name  is  Cameron." 

"  Cameron  —  Cameron !  "  The  woman  shook  her  head 
mournfully.  "Xo;  that  name  is  strange  to  me.  And  her 
mother,  sir,  — she  is  dead?" 

"No;  her  mother  lives." 

A  shade  came  over  the  face  of  the  sufferer;  and  she  said, 
after  a  pause,  — 

"My  eyes  deceive  me  then,  sir;  and,  indeed,  I  feel  that  my 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  183 

head  is  touched,  and  I  wander  sometimes.  But  the  likeness 
was  so  great;  yet  that  young  lady  is  even  lovelier!  " 

"Likenesses  are  very  deceitful  and  very  capricious,  and 
depend  more  on  fancy  than  reality.  One  person  discovers  a 
likeness  between  faces  most  dissimilar,  — a  likeness  invisible 
to  others.     But  who  does  Miss  Cameron  resemble?" 

"One  now  dead,  sir;  dead  many  years  ago.  But  it  is  a  long 
story,  and  one  that  lies  heavy  on  my  conscience.  Some  day 
or  other,  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  sir,  I  will  unburden  my- 
self to  you." 

"  If  I  can  assist  you  in  any  way,  command  me.  Meanwhile, 
have  you  no  friends,  no  relations,  no  children,  whom  you  would 
wish  to  see?" 

"  Children!  —  no,  sir;  I  never  had  but  one  child  of  my  own  " 
(she  laid  an  emphasis  on  the  last  words),  "  and  that  died  in  a 
foreign  land." 

"And  no  other  relatives?" 

"  None,  sir.  My  history  is  very  short  and  simple.  I  was 
well  brought  up,  —  an  only  child.  My  father  was  a  small 
farmer;  he  died  when  I  was  sixteen,  and  I  went  into  service 
with  a  kind  old  lady  and  her  daughter,  who  treated  me  more 
as  a  companion  than  a  servant.  I  was  a  vain,  giddy  girl, 
then,  sir.  A  young  man,  the  son  of  a  neighbouring  farmer, 
courted  me,  and  I  was  much  attached  to  him;  but  neither  of 
us  had  money,  and  his  parents  would  not  give  their  consent 
to  our  marrying.  I  was  silly  enough  to  think  that,  if  Wil- 
liam loved  me,  he  should  have  braved  all;  and  his  prudence 
mortified  me,  so  I  married  another  whom  I  did  not  love.  I 
was  rightly  punished,  for  he  ill-used  me  and  took  to  drinking; 
I  returned  to  my  old  service  to  escape  from  him  —  for  I  was 
with  child,  and  my  life  was  in  danger  from  his  violence.  He 
died  suddenly,  and  in  debt.  And  then,  afterwards,  a  gentle- 
man —  a  rich  gentleman  —  to  whom  I  rendered  a  service  (do 
not  misunderstand  me,  sir,  if  I  say  the  service  was  one  of 
which  I  repent),  gave  me  money,  and  made  me  rich  enough 
to  marry  my  first  lover;  and  William  and  I  went  to  America. 
We  lived  many  years  in  New  York  upon  our  little  fortune 
comfortably ;  and  I  was  a  long  while  happy,  for  I  had  always 


184  ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES. 

loved  William  dearly.  My  first  affliction  was  the  death  of 
my  child  by  my  first  husband ;  but  I  was  soon  roused  from  my 
grief.  William  schemed  and  speculated,  as  everybody  does 
in  America,  and  so  we  lost  all;  and  William  was  weakly  and 
could  not  work.  At  length  he  got  the  place  of  steward  on 
board  a  vessel  from  New  York  to  Liverpool,  and  I  was  taken 
to  assist  in  the  cabin.  We  wanted  to  come  to  London;  I 
thought  my  old  benefactor  might  do  something  for  us,  though 
he  had  never  answered  the  letters  I  sent  to  him.  But  poor 
William  fell  ill  on  board,  and  died  in  sight  of  land." 

Mrs.  Elton  wept  bitterly,  but  with  the  subdued  grief  of  one 
to  whom  tears  have  been  familiar ;  and  when  she  recovered, 
she  soon  brought  her  humble  tale  to  an  end.  She  herself, 
incapacitated  from  all  work  by  sorrow  and  a  breaking  consti- 
tution, was  left  in  the  streets  of  Liverpool  without  other  means 
of  subsistence  than  the  charitable  contributions  of  the  passen- 
gers and  sailors  on  board  the  vessel.  With  this  sum  she  had 
gone  to  London,  where  she  found  her  old  patron  had  been 
long  since  dead,  and  she  had  no  claims  on  his  family.  She 
had,  on  quitting  England,  left  one  relation  settled  in  a  town 
in  the  North;  thither  she  now  repaired,  to  find  her  last  hope 
wrecked;  the  relation  also  was  dead  and  gone.  Her  money 
was  now  spent,  and  she  had  begged  her  way  along  the  road,  or 
through  the  lanes,  she  scarce  knew  whither,  till  the  accident 
which,  in  shortening  her  life,  had  raised  up  a  friend  for  its 
close. 

"And  such,  sir,"  said  she  in  conclusion,  "such  has  been  the 
story  of  my  life,  except  one  part  of  it,  which,  if  I  get  stronger, 
I  can  tell  better;  but  you  will  excuse  that  now." 

"And  are  you  comfortable  and  contented,  my  poor  friend? 
These  people  are  kind  to  you?  " 

"Oh,  so  kind!  And  every  night  we  all  pray  for  you,  sir; 
you  ought  to  be  happy,  if  the  blessings  of  the  poor  can  avail 
the  rich." 

Maltravers  remounted  his  horse,  and  sought  his  home ;  and 
his  heart  was  lighter  than  before  he  entered  that  cottage.  But 
at  evening  Cleveland  talked  of  Vargrave  and  Evelyn,  and  the 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  185 

good  fortune  of  the  one,  and  the  charms  of  the  other;  and  the 
wound,  so  well  concealed,  bled  afresh. 

"I  heard  from  De  Montaigne  the  other  day,"  said  Ernest, 
just  as  they  were  retiring  for  the  night,  "  and  his  letter  de- 
cides my  movements.  If  you  will  accept  me,  then,  as  a  travel- 
ling companion,  I  will  go  with  you  to  Paris.  Have  you  made 
up  your  mind  to  leave  Burleigh  on  Saturday?" 

"  Yes;  that  gives  us  a  day  to  recover  from  Lord  Raby's  ball. 
I  am  so  delighted  at  your  offer!  We  need  only  stay  a  day  or 
so  in  town.  The  excursion  will  do  you  good,  —  your  spirits, 
my  dear  Ernest,  seem  more  dejected  than  when  you  first 
returned  to  England :  you  live  too  much  alone  here ;  you  will 
enjoy  Burleigh  more  on  your  return.  And  perhaps  then  you 
will  open  the  old  house  a  little  more  to  the  neighbourhood, 
and  to  your  friends.  They  expect  it :  you  are  looked  to  for 
the  county." 

"I  have  done  with  politics,  and  sicken  but  for  peace." 

"Pick  up  a  wife  in  Paris,  and  you  will  then  know  that 
peace  is  an  impossible  possession,"  said  the  old  bachelor, 
laughing. 


BOOK    V. 


N^iTiOi'  ovS'  iffouTiv  iarif  irKtoy  rifxiffv  vavrbs.  —  Hbsiod  :  Op.  et  Dies,  40. 

"  Fools  blind  to  truth ;  nor  know  their  erring  soul 
How  much  the  half  is  better  than  the  whole." 


CHAPTER  I. 

Do  as  the  Heavens  have  done  ;  forget  your  evil ; 
With  them,  forgive  yourself.  —  The  Winter's  Tale. 

.    .    .    The  sweet'st  companion  that  e'er  man 
Bred  his  hopes  out  of.  —  Ibii. 

The  curate  of  Brook-Green  was  sitting  outside  his  door. 
Tlie  vicarage  which  he  inhabited  was  a  straggling,  irregular, 
but  picturesque  building,  —  humble  enough  to  suit  the  means 
of  the  curate,  yet  large  enough  to  accommodate  the  vicar. 
It  had  been  built  in  an  age  when  the  indigentes  et  pauperes  for 
whom  universities  were  founded  supplied,  more  than  they  do 
now,  the  fountains  of  the  Christian  ministry,  when  pastor 
and  flock  were  more  on  an  equality. 

From  under  a  rude  and  arched  porch,  with  an  oaken  settle 
on  either  side  for  the  poor  visitor,  the  door  opened  at  once 
upon  the  old-fashioned  parlour,  —  a  homely  but  pleasant 
room,  with  one  wide  but  low  cottage  casement,  beneath 
which  stood  the  dark  shining  table  that  supported  the  large 
Bible  in  its  green  baize  cover;  the  Concordance,  and  the  last 
Sunday's  sermon,  in  its  jetty  case.  There  by  the  fireplace 
stood  the  bachelor's  round  elbow-chair,  with  a  needlework 
cushion  at  the  back;  a  walnut-tree  bureau,  another  table  or 
two,  half  a  dozen  plain  chairs,  constituted  the  rest  of  the  fur- 
niture, saving  some  two  or  three  hundred  volumes,  ranged  in 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  187 

neat  shelves  on  the  clean  wainscoted  walls.  There  was  an- 
other room,  to  which  you  ascended  by  two  steps,  communicat- 
ing with  this  parlour,  smaller  but  finer,  and  inhabited  only 
on  festive  days,  when  Lady  Vargrave,  or  some  other  quiet 
neighbour,  came  to  drink  tea  with  the  good  curate. 

An  old  housekeeper  and  her  grandson  —  a  young  fellow  of 
about  two  and  twenty,  who  tended  the  garden,  milked  the 
cow,  and  did  in  fact  what  he  was  wanted  to  do  —  composed 
the  establishment  of  the  humble  minister. 

We  have  digressed  from  Mr.  Aubrey  himself. 

The  curate  was  seated,  then,  one  fine  summer  morning,  on 
a  bench  at  the  left  of  his  porch,  screened  from  the  sun  by  the 
cool  boughs  of  a  chestnut-tree,  the  shadow  of  which  half  cov- 
ered the  little  lawn  that  separated  the  precincts  of  the  house 
from  those  of  silent  Death  and  everlasting  Hope;  above  the 
irregular  and  moss-grown  paling  rose  the  village  church ;  and, 
through  openings  in  the  trees,  beyond  the  burial-ground,  par- 
tially gleamed  the  white  walls  of  Lady  Vargrave's  cottage, 
and  were  seen  at  a  distance  the  sails  on  the  — 

"  Mighty  waters,  rolling  evermore." 

The  old  man  was  calmly  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  morning, 
the  freshness  of  the  air,  the  warmth  of  the  dancing  beam,  and 
not  least,  perhaps,  his  own  peaceful  thoughts,  —  the  sponta- 
neous children  of  a  contemplative  spirit  and  a  quiet  con- 
science. His  was  the  age  when  we  most  sensitively  enjoy 
the  mere  sense  of  existence,  —  when  the  face  of  Nature  and  a 
passive  conviction  of  the  benevolence  of  our  Great  Father  suf- 
fice to  create  a  serene  and  ineffable  happiness,  which  rarely 
visits  us  till  we  have  done  with  the  passions ;  till  memories, 
if  more  alive  than  heretofore,  are  yet  mellowed  in  the  hues 
of  time,  and  Faith  softens  into  harmony  all  their  asperities 
and  harshness ;  till  nothing  within  us  remains  to  cast  a  shadow 
over  the  things  without ;  and  on  the  verge  of  life,  the  Angels 
are  nearer  to  us  than  of  yore.  There  is  an  old  age  which  has 
more  youth  of  heart  than  youth  itself ! 

As  the  old  man  thus  sat,  the  little  gate  through  which,  on 
Sabbath  days,  he  was  wont  to  pass  from  the  humble  mansion 


188  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

to  the  house  of  God  noiselessly  opened,  and  Lady  Vargrave 
appeared. 

The  curate  rose  when  he  perceived  her;  and  the  lady's  fair 
features  were  lighted  up  with  a  gentle  pleasure,  as  she  pressed 
his  hand  and  returned  his  salutation. 

There  was  a  peculiarity  in  Lady  Vargrave' s  countenance 
which  I  have  rarely  seen  in  others.  Her  smile,  which  was 
singularly  expressive,  came  less  from  the  lip  than  from  the 
eyes;  it  was  almost  as  if  the  brow  smiled;  it  was  as  the  sud- 
den and  momentary  vanishing  of  a  light  but  melancholy  cloud 
that  usually  rested  upon  the  features,  placid  as  they  were. 

They  sat  down  on  the  rustic  bench,  and  the  sea-breeze  wan- 
toned amongst  the  quivering  leaves  of  the  chestnut-tree  that 
overhung  their  seat. 

"I  have  come,  as  usual,  to  consult  my  kind  friend,"  said 
Lady  Vargrave;  "and,  as  usual  also,  it  is  about  our  absent 
Evelyn." 

"Have  you  heard  again  from  her,  this  morning? " 

"Yes;  and  her  letter  increases  the  anxiety  which  your 
observation,  so  much  deeper  than  mine,  first  awakened." 

"Does  she  then  write  much  of  Lord  Vargrave?" 

"  Not  a  great  deal ;  but  the  little  she  does  say,  betrays  how 
much  she  shrinks  from  the  union  my  poor  husband  desired : 
more,  indeed,  than  ever !  But  this  is  not  all,  nor  the  worst ; 
for  you  know  that  the  late  lord  had  provided  against  that 
probability  —  he  loved  her  so  tenderly,  his  ambition  for  her 
only  came  from  his  affection;  and  the  letter  he  left  behind 
him  pardons  and  releases  her,  if  she  revolts  from  the  choice 
he  himself  preferred." 

"  Lord  Vargrave  is,  perhaps,  a  generous,  he  certainly  seems 
a  candid,  man,  and  he  must  be  sensible  that  his  uncle  has 
already  done  all  that  justice  required." 

"  I  think  so.  But  this,  as  I  said,  is  not  all ;  I  have  brought 
the  letter  to  show  you.  It  seems  to  me  as  you  apprehended. 
This  Mr.  Maltravers  has  wound  himself  about  her  thoughts 
more  than  she  herself  imagines ;  you  see  how  she  dwells  on 
all  that  concerns  him,  and  how,  after  checking  herself,  she 
returns  again  and  again  to  the  same  subject." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  189 

The  curate  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  took  the  letter.  It 
was  a  strange  thing,  that  old  gray-haired  minister  evincing 
such  grave  interest  in  the  secrets  of  that  young  heart !  But 
they  who  would  take  charge  of  the  soul  must  never  be  too 
wise  to  regard  the  heart ! 

Lady  Vargrave  looked  over  his  shoulder  as  he  bent  down  to 
read,  and  at  times  placed  her  finger  on  such  passages  as  she 
wished  him  to  note.  The  old  curate  nodded  as  she  did  so; 
but  neither  spoke  till  the  letter  was  concluded. 

The  curate  then  folded  up  the  epistle,  took  off  his  spectacles, 
hemmed,  and  looked  grave. 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Vargrave,  anxiously,  "well?" 

"  My  dear  friend,  the  letter  requires  consideration.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  clear  to  me  that,  in  spite  of  Lord  Vargrave's 
presence  at  the  rectory,  his  lordship  so  manages  matters  that 
the  poor  child  is  unable  of  herself  to  bring  that  matter  to  a 
conclusion.  And,  indeed,  to  a  mind  so  sensitively  delicate 
and  honourable,  it  is  no  easy  task." 

"Shall  I  write  to  Lord  Vargrave?" 

"Let  us  think  of  it.  In  the  meanwhile,  this  Mr. 
Maltravers  —  " 

"  Ah,  this  Mr.  Maltravers !  " 

"The  child  shows  us  more  of  her  heart  than  she  thinks  of; 
and  yet  I  myself  am  puzzled.  If  you  observe,  she  has  only 
once  or  twice  spoken  of  the  Colonel  Legard  whom  she  has 
made  acquaintance  with;  while  she  treats  at  length  of  Mr. 
Maltravers,  and  confesses  the  effect  he  has  produced  on  her 
mind.  Yet,  do  you  know,  I  more  dread  the  caution  respect- 
ing the  first  than  all  the  candour  that  betrays  the  influence  of 
the  last?  There  is  a  great  difference  between  first  fancy  and 
first  love." 

"Is  there?"  said  the  lady,  abstractedly. 

"Again,  neither  of  us  is  acquainted  with  this  singular  man, 
—  I  mean  Maltravers ;  his  character,  temper,  and  principles, 
of  all  of  which  Evelyn  is  too  young,  too  guileless,  to  judge 
for  herself.  One  thing,  however,  in  her  letter  speaks  in  his 
favour." 

"What  is  that?" 


190  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"  He  absents  himself  from  ber.  This,  if  he  has  discovered 
her  secret,  or  if  he  himself  is  sensible  of  too  great  a  charm  in 
her  presence,  would  be  the  natural  course  that  an  honourable 
and  a  strong  mind  would  pursue. " 

"  What !  —  if  he  love  her?  " 

"Yes;  while  he  believes  her  hand  is  engaged  to  another." 

"  True !  What  shall  be  done  —  if  Evelyn  should  love,  and 
love  in  vain?    Ah,  it  is  the  misery  of  a  whole  existence! " 

"Perhaps  she  had  better  return  to  us,"  said  Mr.  Aubrey; 
"and  yet,  if  already  it  be  too  late,  and  her  affections  are 
engaged,  we  should  still  remain  in  ignorance  respecting  the 
motives  and  mind  of  the  object  of  her  attachment;  and  he, 
too,  might  not  know  the  true  nature  of  the  obstacle  connected 
with  Lord  Vargrave's  claims." 

"  Shall  I,  then,  go  to  her?  You  know  how  I  shrink  from 
strangers;  how  I  fear  curiosity,  doubts,  and  questions;  how 
[and  Lady  Vargrave's  voice  faltered]  —  how  unfitted  I  am 
for  —  for  —  "  she  stopped  short,  and  a  faint  blush  overspread 
her  cheeks. 

The  curate  understood  her,  and  was  moved. 

"Dear  friend,"  said  he,  "will  you  intrust  this  charge  to 
myself?  You  know  how  Evelyn  is  endeared  to  me  by  certain 
recollections!  Perhaps,  better  than  you,  I  may  be  enabled 
silently  to  examine  if  this  man  be  worthy  of  her,  and  one  who 
could  secure  her  happiness ;  perhaps,  better  than  you  I  may 
ascertain  the  exact  nature  of  her  own  feelings  towards  him; 
perhaps,  too,  better  than  you  I  may  effect  an  understanding 
with  Lord  Vargrave." 

"You  are  always  my  kindest  friend,"  said  the  lady,  with 
emotion ;  "  how  much  I  already  owe  you !  what  hopes  beyond 
the  grave !  what  —  " 

"Hush!"  interrupted  the  curate,  gently;  "your  own  good 
heart  and  pure  intentions  have  worked  out  your  own  atone- 
ment—  may  I  hope  also  your  own  content?  Let  us  return  to 
our  Evelyn.  Poor  child !  how  unlike  this  despondent  letter 
to  her  gay  light  spirits  when  with  us !  We  acted  for  the  best ; 
yet  perhaps  we  did  wrong  to  yield  her  up  to  strangers.  And 
this  Maltravers  —  with  her  enthusiasm  and  quick  susceptibil- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES.  191 

ities  to  genius,  she  was  half  prepared  to  imagine  him  all  she 
depicts  him  to  be.  He  must  have  a  spell  in  his  works  that  I 
have  not  discovered,  for  at  times  it  seems  to  operate  even  on 
you." 

"Because,"  said  Lady  Vargrave,  "they  remind  me  of  his 
conversation,  his  habits  of  thought.  If  like  him  in  other 
things,  Evelyn  may  indeed  be  happy !  " 

"  And  if,"  said  the  curate,  curiously,  —  "  if  now  that  you  are 
free,  you  were  ever  to  meet  with  him  again,  and  his  memory 
had  been  as  faithful  as  yours ;  and  if  he  offered  the  sole  atone- 
ment in  his  power,  for  all  that  his  early  error  cost  you;  if 
such  a  chance  should  happen  in  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  you 
would  —  " 

The  curate  stopped  short;  for  he  was  struck  by  the  exceed- 
ing paleness  of  his  friend's  cheek,  and  the  tremor  of  her  deli- 
cate frame. 

"  If  that  were  to  happen, "  said  she,  in  a  very  low  voice ;  "  if 
we  were  to  meet  again,  and  if  he  were  —  as  you  and  Mrs. 
Leslie  seem  to  think  —  poor,  and,  like  myself,  humbly  born, 
if  my  fortune  could  assist  him,  if  my  love  could  still  — 
changed,  altered  as  I  am  —  ah !  do  not  talk  of  it  —  I  cannot 
bear  the  thought  of  happiness!  And  yet,  if  before  I  die  I 
could  but  see  him  again !  "  She  clasped  her  hands  fervently 
as  she  spoke,  and  the  blush  that  overspread  her  face  threw 
over  it  so  much  of  bloom  and  freshness,  that  even  Evelyn, 
at  that  moment,  would  scarcely  have  seemed  more  young. 
"Enough!"  she  added,  after  a  little  while,  as  the  glow  died 
away.  "It  is  but  a  foolish  hope;  all  earthly  love  is  buried; 
and  my  heart  is  there  1 "  —  she  pointed  to  the  heavens,  and 
both  were  silent. 


192  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER  II. 

QuiBUS  otio  vel  magnifice  vel  molliter,  vivere  copia  era  incerta  pro  certis 
malebant.^  —  Sallust. 

Lord  Raby  —  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  splendid 
noblemen  in  England  —  was  prouder,  perhaps,  of  his  provin- 
cial distinctions  than  the  eminence  of  his  rank  or  the  fashion 
of  his  wife.  The  magnificent  chateaux,  the  immense  estates, 
of  our  English  peers  tend  to  preserve  to  us  in  spite  of  the 
freedom,  bustle,  and  commercial  grandeur  of  our  people  more 
of  the  Norman  attributes  of  aristocracy  than  can  be  found  in 
other  countries.  In  his  county,  the  great  noble  is  a  petty 
prince;  his  house  is  a  court;  his  possessions  and  munificence 
are  a  boast  to  every  proprietor  in  his  district.  They  are  as 
fond  of  talking  of  the  earl's  or  the  duke's  movements  and 
entertainments,  as  Dangeau  was  of  the  gossip  of  the  Tuileries 
and  Versailles. 

Lord  Eaby,  while  affecting,  as  lieutenant  of  the  county,  to 
make  no  political  distinctions  between  squire  and  squire  — 
hospitable  and  affable  to  all  —  still,  by  that  very  absence  of 
exclusiveness,  gave  a  tone  to  the  politics  of  the  whole  county ; 
and  converted  many  who  had  once  thought  differently  on  the 
respective  virtues  of  Whigs  and  Tories.  A  great  man  never 
loses  so  much  as  when  he  exhibits  intolerance,  or  parades  the 
right  of  persecution.  ^ 

"My  tenants  shall  vote  exactly  as  they  please,"  said  Lord 
Eaby ;  and  he  was  never  known  to  have  a  tenant  vote  against 
his  wishes!  Keeping  a  vigilant  eye  on  all  the  interests,  and 
conciliating  all  the  proprietors,  in  the  county,  he  not  only 
never  lost  a  friend,  but  he  kept  together  a  body  of  partisans 
that  constantly  added  to  its  numbers. 

1  "  They  who  had  the  means  to  live  at  ease,  either  in  splendour  or  in  lux- 
ury, preferred  the  uncertainty  of  change  to  their  natural  security." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  193 

Sir  John  Merton's  colleague,  a  young  Lord  Nelthorpe,  who 
could  not  speak  three  sentences  if  you  took  away  his  hat,  and 
who,  constant  at  Almack's,  was  not  only  inaudible  but  invisi- 
ble in  parliament,  had  no  chance  of  being  re-elected.  Lord 
Nelthorpe's  father,  the  Earl  of  Mainwaring,  was  a  new  peer; 
and,  next  to  Lord  Raby,  the  richest  nobleman  in  the  county. 
Now,  though  they  were  much  of  the  same  politics.  Lord  Raby 
hated  Lord  Mainwaring.  They  were  too  near  each  other,  — 
they  clashed;  they  had  the  jealousy  of  rival  princes! 

Lord  Raby  was  delighted  at  the  notion  of  getting  rid  of 
Lord  Nelthorpe,  —  it  would  be  so  sensible  a  blow  to  the  Main- 
waring interest.  The  party  had  been  looking  out  for  a  new 
candidate,  and  Maltravers  had  been  much  talked  of.  It  is 
true  that,  when  in  parliament  some  years  before,  the  politics 
of  Maltravers  had  differed  from  those  of  Lord  Raby  and  his 
set.  But  Maltravers  had  of  late  taken  no  share  in  politics, 
had  uttered  no  political  opinions,  was  intimate  with  the  elec- 
tioneering Mertons,  was  supposed  to  be  a  discontented  man, 
—  and  politicians  believe  in  no  discontent  that  is  not  political. 
Whispers  were  afloat  that  Maltravers  had  grown  wise,  and 
changed  his  views:  some  remarks  of  his,  more  theoretical 
than  practical,  were  quoted  in  favour  of  this  notion.  Parties, 
too,  had  much  changed  since  Maltravers  had  appeared  on  the 
busy  scene,  —  new  questions  had  arisen,  and  the  old  ones  had 
died  off. 

Lord  Raby  and  his  party  thought  that,  if  Maltravers  could 
be  secured  to  them,  no  one  would  better  suit  their  purpose. 
Political  faction  loves  converts  better  even  than  consistent 
adherents.  A  man's  rise  in  life  generally  dates  from  a  well- 
timed  rat.  His  high  reputation,  his  provincial  rank  as  the 
representative  of  the  oldest  commoner's  family  in  the  county, 
his  age,  which  combined  the  energy  of  one  period  with  the 
experience  of  another,  —  all  united  to  accord  Maltravers  a  pre- 
ference over  richer  men.  Lord  Raby  had  been  pointedly  cour- 
teous and  flattering  to  the  master  of  Burleigh;  and  he  now 
contrived  it  so,  that  the  brilliant  entertainment  he  was  about 
to  give  might  appear  in  compliment  to  a  distinguished  neigh- 
bour, returned  to  fix  his  residence  on  his  patrimonial  prop- 

13 


194  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

erty,  while  in  reality  it  might  serve  an  electioneering  purpose, 
—  serve  to  introduce  Maltravers  to  the  county,  as  if  under  his 
lordship's  own  wing,  and  minister  to  political  uses  that  went 
beyond  the  mere  representation  of  the  county. 

Lord  Vargrave  had,  during  his  stay  at  Merton  Rectory,  paid 
several  visits  to  Knaresdean,  and  held  many  private  conversa- 
tions with  the  marquess:  the  result  of  these  conversations  was 
a  close  union  of  schemes  and  interests  between  the  two  noble- 
men. Dissatisfied  with  the  political  conduct  of  government, 
Lord  Raby  was  also  dissatisfied  that,  from  various  party  rea- 
sons, a  nobleman  beneath  himself  in  rank,  and  as  he  thought 
in  influence,  had  obtained  a  preference  in  a  recent -vacancy 
among  the  Knights  of  the  Garter.  And  if  Vargrave  had  a 
talent  in  the  world  it  was  in  discovering  the  weak  points  of 
men  whom  he  sought  to  gain,  and  making  the  vanities  of 
others  conduce  to  his  own  ambition. 

The  festivities  of  Knaresdean  gave  occasion  to  Lord  Raby 
to  unite  at  his  house  the  more  prominent  of  those  who  thought 
and  acted  in  concert  with  Lord  Vargrave  5  and  in  this  secret 
senate  the  operations  for  the  following  session  were  to  be  seri- 
ously discussed  and  gravely  determined. 

On  the  day  which  was  to  be  concluded  with  the  ball  at 
Knaresdean,  Lord  Vargrave  went  before  the  rest  of  the  Mer- 
ton party,  for  he  was  engaged  to  dine  with  the  marquess. 

On  arriving  at  Knaresdean,  Lumley  found  Lord  Saxingham 
and  some  other  politicians,  who  had  arrived  the  preceding  day, 
closeted  with  Lord  Raby;  and  Vargrave,  who  shone  to  yet 
greater  advantage  in  the  diplomacy  of  party  management  than 
in  the  arena  of  parliament,  brought  penetration,  energy,  and 
decision  to  timid  and  fluctuating  counsels.  Lord  Vargrave 
lingered  in  the  room  after  the  first  bell  had  summoned  the 
other  guests  to  depart. 

"My  dear  lord,"  said  he  then,  "though  no  one  would  be 
more  glad  than  myself  to  secure  Maltravers  to  our  side,  I  very 
much  doubt  whether  you  will  succeed  in  doing  so.  On  the 
one  hand,  he  appears  altogether  disgusted  with  politics  and 
parliament;  and  on  the  other  hand,  I  fancy  that  reports  of  his 
change  of  opinions  are,  if  not  wholly  unfounded,  very  unduly 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  195 

coloured.  Moreover,  to  do  him  justice,  I  think  that  he  is  not 
one  to  be  blinded  and  flattered  into  the  pale  of  a  party;  and 
your  bird  will  fly  away  after  you  have  wasted  a  bucketful  of 
salt  on  his  tail." 

"Very  possibly,"  said  Lord  Raby,  laughing, — "you  know 
him  better  than  I  do.  But  there  are  many  purposes  to  serve 
in  this  matter,  —  purposes  too  provincial  to  interest  you.  In 
the  first  place,  we  shall  humble  the  Nelthorpe  interest,  merely 
by  showing  that  we  do  think  of  a  new  member;  secondly,  we 
shall  get  up  a  manifestation  of  feeling  that  would  be  impossi- 
ble, unless  we  were  provided  with  a  centre  of  attraction; 
thirdly,  we  shall  rouse  a  certain  emulation  among  other 
county  gentlemen,  and  if  Mai tra vers  decline,  we  shall  have 
many  applicants;  and  fourthly,  suppose  Maltravers  has  not 
changed  his  opinions,  we  shall  make  him  suspected  by  the 
party  he  really  does  belong  to,  and  which  would  be  somewhat 
formidable  if  he  were  to  head  them.  In  fact,  these  are  mere 
county  tactics  that  you  can't  be  expected  to  understand." 

"I  see  you  are  quite  right:  meanwhile  you  will  at  least 
have  an  opportunity  (though  I  say  it,  who  should  not  say  it) 
to  present  to  the  county  one  of  the  prettiest  young  ladies  that 
ever  graced  the  halls  of  Knaresdean," 

"Ah,  Miss  Cameron!  I  have  heard  much  of  her  beauty: 
you  are  a  lucky  fellow,  Vargrave !  By  the  by,  are  we  to  say 
anything  of  the  engagement?  " 

"  Why,  indeed,  my  dear  lord,  it  is  now  so  publicly  known, 
that  it  would  be  false  delicacy  to  affect  concealment." 

"Very  well;  I  understand." 

"  How  long  I  have  detained  you  —  a  thousand  pardons !  —  I 
have  but  just  time  to  dress.  In  four  or  five  months  I  must 
remember  to  leave  you  a  longer  time  for  your  toilet." 

"Me  — how?" 

"  Oh,  the  Duke  of can't  live  long;  and  I  always  observe 

that  when  a  handsome  man  has  the  Garter,  he  takes  a  long 
time  pulling  up  his  stockings." 

"Ha,  ha!  you  are  so  droll,  Vargrave." 

"Ha,  ha!     I  must  be  off." 

"  The  more  publicity  is  given  to  this  arrangement,  the  more 


196  ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

difficult  for  Evelyn  to  shy  at  the  leap,"  muttered  Vargrave  to 
himself  as  he  closed  the  door.  "  Thus  do  I  make  all  things 
useful  to  myself !  " 

The  dinner  party  were  assembled  in  the  great  drawing- 
room,  when  Maltravers  and  Cleveland,  also  invited  guests  to 
the  banquet,  were  announced.  Lord  Kaby  received  the  former 
with  marked  empressement ;  and  the  stately  marchioness  hon- 
oured him  with  her  most  gracious  smile.  Formal  presenta- 
tions to  the  rest  of  the  guests  were  interchanged;  and  it  was 
not  till  the  circle  was  fully  gone  through  that  Maltravers  per- 
ceived, seated  by  himself  in  a  corner,  to  which  he  had  shrunk 
on  the  entrance  of  Maltravers,  a  gray-haired  solitary  man,  — 
it  was  Lord  Saxingham !  The  last  time  they  had  met  was  in 
the  death-chamber  of  Florence ;  and  the  old  man  forgot  for  the 
moment  the  anticipated  dukedom,  and  the  dreamed-of  premier- 
ship, and  his  heart  flew  back  to  the  grave  of  his  only  child ! 
They  saluted  each  other,  and  shook  hands  in  silence.  And 
Vargrave  —  whose  eye  was  on  them  —  Vargrave,  whose  arts 
had  made  that  old  man  childless,  felt  not  a  pang  of  remorse! 
Living  ever  in  the  future,  Vargrave  almost  seemed  to  have 
lost  his  memory.  He  knew  not  what  regret  was.  It  is  a  con- 
dition of  life  with  men  thoroughly  worldly  that  they  never 
look  behind! 

The  signal  was  given:  in  due  order  the  party  were  mar- 
shalled into  the  great  hall,  —  a  spacious  and  lofty  chamber, 
which  had  received  its  last  alteration  from  the  hand  of  Inigo 
Jones;  though  the  massive  ceiling,  with  its  antique  and  gro- 
tesque masques,  betrayed  a  much  earlier  date,  and  contrasted 
with  the  Corinthian  pilasters  that  adorned  the  walls,  and 
supported  the  music-gallery,  from  which  waved  the  flags  of 
modern  warfare  and  its  mimicries,  —  the  eagle  of  Napoleon,  a 
token  of  the  services  of  Lord  Raby's  brother  (a  distinguished 
cavalry  officer  in  command  at  Waterloo),  in  juxtaposition 
with  a  much  gayer  and  more  glittering  banner,  emblematic 
of  the  martial  fame  of  Lord  Raby  himself,  as  Colonel  of  the 
B shire  volunteers! 

The  music  pealed  from  the  gallery,-fche.iplate  glittered  on 
the,  ilaoasd  i  }fehft[ladie«  i  wore  tdiamouds, -  and  thd :  igeatibemeA' Itvho 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  19Y 

had  them  wore  stars.     It  was  a  very  fine  sight,  that  banquet! 

—  such  as  became  the  festive  day  of  a  lord-lieutenant  whose 
ancestors  had  now  defied,  and  now  intermarried,  with  roy- 
alty. But  there  was  very  little  talk,  and  no  merriment. 
People  at  the  top  of  the  table  drank  wine  with  those  at  the 
bottom;  and  gentlemen  and  ladies  seated  next  to  each  other 
whispered  languidly  in  monosyllabic  commune.  On  one 
side,  Maltravers  was  flanked  by  a  Lady  Somebody  Some- 
thing, who  was  rather  deaf,  and  very  much  frightened  for 
fear  he  should  talk  Greek;  on  the  other  side  he  was  relieved 
by  Sir  John  Merton,  —  very  civil,  very  pompous,  and  talking, 
at  strictured  intervals,  about  county  matters,  in  a  measured 
intonation,  savouring  of  the  House-of-Commons  jerk  at  the 
end  of  the  sentence. 

As  the  dinner  advanced  to  its  close.  Sir  John  became  a 
little  more  diffuse,  though  his  voice  sank  into  a  whisper. 

"  I  fear  there  will  be  a  split  in  the  Cabinet  before  parlia- 
ment meets." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes ;  Vargrave  and  the  premier  cannot  pull  together  very 
long.  Clever  man,  Vargrave !  but  he  has  not  enough  stake  in 
the  country  for  a  leader !  " 

"All  men  have  public  character  to  stake;  and  if  that  be 
good,  I  suppose  no  stake  can  be  better?  " 

"  Humph !  —  yes  —  very  true ;  but  still,  when  a  man  has  land 
and  money,  his  opinions,  in  a  country  like  this,  very  properly 
carry  more  weight  with  them.  If  Vargrave,  for  instance,  had 
Lord  Raby's  property,  no  man  could  be  more  fit  for  a  leader, 

—  a  prime  minister.  We  might  then  be  sure  that  he  would 
have  no  selfish  interest  to  further :  he  would  not  play  tricks 
with  his  party  —  you  understand?" 

"Perfectly." 

"I  am  not  a  party  man,  as  you  may  remember;  indeed,  you 
and  I  have  voted  alike  on  the  same  questions.  Measures,  not 
men, — that  is  my  maxim;  but  still  I  don't  like  to  see  men 
placed  above  their  proper  stations." 

"  Maltravers,  a  glass  of  wine, "  said  Lord  Vargrave  across 
the  table.     "Will  you  join  us,  Sir  John?  " 


198  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Sir  John  bowed. 

"  Certainly, "  he  resumed,  "  Vargrave  is  a  pleasant  man  and  a 
good  speaker ;  but  still  they  say  he  is  far  from  rich,  —  embar- 
rassed, indeed.  However,  when  he  marries  Miss  Cameron  it 
may  make  a  great  difference,  — give  him  more  respectability  j 
do  you  know  what  her  fortune  is  —  something  immense?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  so;  I  don't  know." 

"My  brother  says  that  Vargrave  is  most  amiable.  The 
young  lady  is  very  handsome,  almost  too  handsome  for  a  wife 
—  don't  you  think  so?  Beauties  are  all  very  well  in  a  ball- 
room; but  they  are  not  calculated  for  domestic  life.  I  am 
sure  you  agree  with  me.  I  have  heard,  indeed,  that  Miss 
Cameron  is  rather  learned;  but  there  is  so  much  scandal  in  a 
country  neighbourhood, — people  are  so  ill-natured.  I  dare 
say  she  is  not  more  learned  than  other  young  ladies,  poor 
girl !     What  do  you  think?  " 

"  Miss  Cameron  is  —  is  very  accomplished,  I  believe.  And 
so  you  think  the  Government  cannot  stand?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that,  —  very  far  from  it ;  but  I  fear  there  must 
be  a  change.  However,  if  the  country  gentlemen  hold  to- 
gether, I  do  not  doubt  but  what  we  shall  weather  the  storm. 
The  landed  interest,  Mr.  Maltravers,  is  the  great  stay  of  this 
country,  —  the  sheet-anchor,  I  may  say.  I  suppose  Lord  Var- 
grave, who  seems,  I  must  say,  to  have  right  notions  on  this 
head,  will  invest  Miss  Cameron's  fortune  in  land.  But  though 
one  may  buy  an  estate,  one  can't  buy  an  old  family,  Mr.  Mal- 
travers !  —  you  and  I  may  be  thankful  for  that.  By  the  way, 
who  was  Miss  Cameron's  mother.  Lady  Vargrave?  —  some- 
thing low,  I  fear;  nobody  knows." 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  Lady  Vargrave ;  your  sister-in- 
law  speaks  of  her  most  highly.  And  the  daughter  in  herself 
is  a  sufficient  guarantee  for  the  virtues  of  the  mother." 

"Yes;  and  Vargrave  on  one  side,  at  least,  has  himself 
nothing  in  the  way  of  family  to  boast  of." 

The  ladies  left  the  hall,  the  gentlemen  re-seated  themselves. 
Lord  Raby  made  some  remark  on  politics  to  Sir  John  Merton, 
and  the  whole  round  of  talkers  immediately  followed  their 
leader. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  199 

"It  is  a  thousand  pities,  Sir  John,"  said  Lord  Raby,  "that 
you  have  not  a  colleague  more  worthy  of  you;  Nelthorpe  never 
attends  a  committee,  does  he?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  he  is  a  very  active  member;  but  he  is 
young,  and  we  must  make  allowances  for  him,"  said  Sir  John, 
discreetly;  for  he  had  no  desire  to  oust  his  colleague,  —  it  was 
agreeable  enough  to  be  the  efficient  member. 

"  In  these  times, "  said  Lord  Raby,  loftily,  "  allowances  are 
not  to  be  made  for  systematic  neglect  of  duty;  we  shall  have 
a  stormy  session;  the  Opposition  is  no  longer  to  be  despised; 
perhaps  a  dissolution  may  be  nearer  at  hand  than  we  think 
for.     As  for  Nelthorpe,  he  cannot  come  in  again." 

"That  I  am  quite  sure  of,"  said  a  fat  country  gentleman  of 
great  weight  in  the  county ;  "  he  not  only  was  absent  on  the 
great  Malt  question,  but  he  never  answered  my  letter  respect- 
ing the  Canal  Company." 

"Not  answered  your  letter!"  said  Lord  Raby,  lifting  up 
his  hands  and  eyes  in  amaze  and  horror.  "What  conduct! 
Ah,  Mr.  Maltravers,  you  are  the  man  for  us ! " 

"  Hear !  hear !  "  cried  the  fat  squire. 

"Hear!"  echoed  Vargrave;  and  the  approving  sound  went 
round  the  table. 

Lord  Raby  rose.  "Gentlemen,  fill  your  glasses;  a  health  to 
our  distinguished  neighbour ! " 

The  company  applauded;  each  in  his  turn  smiled,  nodded, 
and  drank  to  Maltravers,  who,  though  taken  by  surprise,  saw 
at  once  the  course  to  pursue.  He  returned  thanks  simply  and 
shortly;  and  without  pointedly  noticing  the  allusion  in  which 
Lord  Raby  had  indulged,  remarked,  incidentally,  that  he  had 
retired,  certainly  for  some  years  —  perhaps  forever  —  from 
political  life. 

Vargrave  smiled  significantly  at  Lord  Raby,  and  hastened 
to  lead  the  conversation  into  party  discussion.  Wrapped  in 
his  proud  disdain  of  what  he  considered  the  contests  of  fac- 
tions for  toys  and  shadows,  Maltravers  remained  silent;  and 
the  party  soon  broke  up,  and  adjourned  to  the  ballroom. 


200  ALICE;   OE,  THE  MYSTEKIES. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Le  plus  grand  de'faut  de  la  peuetration  n'est  pas  de  n'aller  point  jas- 
qu'au  but,  —  c'est  de  la  passer.^  —  La  Rochefoucauld. 

Evelyn  had  looked  forward  to  the  ball  at  Knaresdean  with 
feelings  deeper  than  those  which  usually  inflame  the  fancy  of 
a  girl  proud  of  her  dress  and  confident  of  her  beauty.  Whether 
or  not  she  loved  Maltravers,  in  the  true  acceptation  of  the  word 
"love,"  it  is  certain  that  he  had  acquired  a  most  powerful  com- 
mand over  her  mind  and  imagination.  She  felt  the  warmest 
interest  in  his  welfare,  the  most  anxious  desire  for  his  esteem, 
the  deepest  regret  at  the  thought  of  their  estrangement.  At 
Knaresdean  she  should  meet  Maltravers,  —  in  crowds,  it  is 
true;  but  still  she  should  meet  him;  she  should  see  him  tow- 
ering superior  above  the  herd;  she  should  hear  him  praised; 
she  should  mark  him,  the  observed  of  all.  But  there  was  an- 
other and  a  deeper  source  of  joy  within  her.  A  letter  had 
been  that  morning  received  from  Aubrey,  in  which  he  had 
announced  his  arrival  for  the  next  day.  The  letter,  though 
affectionate,  was  short.  Evelyn  had  been  some  months  absent, 
—  Lady  Vargrave  was  anxious  to  make  arrangements  for  her 
return;  but  it  was  to  be  at  her  option  whether  she  would 
accompany  the  curate  home.  Now,  besides  her  delight  at 
seeing  once  more  the  dear  old  man,  and  hearing  from  his  lips 
that  her  mother  was  well  and  happy,  Evelyn  hailed  in  his 
arrival  the  means  of  extricating  herself  from  her  position 
with  Lord  Vargrave.  She  would  confide  in  him  her  increased 
repugnance  to  that  union,  he  would  confer  with  Lord  Var- 
grave ;  and  then  —  and  then  —  did  there  come  once  more  the 
thought  of  Maltravers?    No!     I  fear  it  was  not  Maltravers 

1  "  The  greatest  defect  of  penetration  is  not  that  of  not  going  just  up  to 
the  point,  —  't  is  the  passing  it." 


ALICE;    OR,    THE  MYSTERIES.  201 

who  called  forth  that  smile  and  that  sigh !     Strange  girl,  you 
know  not  your  own  mind !  —  but  few  of  us,  at  your  age,  do. 

In  all  the  gayety  of  hope,  in  the  pride  of  dress  and  half- 
conscious  loveliness,  Evelyn  went  with  a  light  step  into  Caro- 
line's room.  Miss  Merton  had  already  dismissed  her  woman, 
and  was  seated  by  her  writing-table,  leaning  her  cheek  thought- 
fully on  her  hand. 

"Is  it  time  to  go?"  said  she,  looking  up.  "Well,  we  shall 
put  Papa,  and  the  coachman,  and  the  horses,  too,  in  excellent 
humour.  How  well  you  look !  Really,  Evelyn,  you  are  indeed 
beautiful!  "  and  Caroline  gazed  with  honest  but  not  unenvious 
admiration  at  the  fairy  form  so  rounded  and  yet  so  delicate, 
and  the  face  that  seemed  to  blush  at  its  own  charms. 

"I  am  sure  I  can  return  the  flattery,"  said  Evelyn,  laugh- 
ing bashfully. 

"Oh,  as  for  me,  I  am  well  enough  in  my  way:  and  here- 
after, I  dare  say,  we  may  be  rival  beauties.  I  hope  we  shall 
remain  good  friends,  and  rule  the  world  with  divided  empire. 
Do  you  not  long  for  the  stir,  and  excitement,  and  ambition  of 
London?  —  for  ambition  is  open  to  us  as  to  men!  " 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  Evelyn,  smiling;  "I  could  be  ambi- 
tious, indeed ;  but  it  would  not  be  for  myself,  but  for  —  " 

"  A  husband,  perhaps ;  well,  you  will  have  ample  scope  for 
such  sympathy.     Lord  Vargrave  —  " 

"  Lord  Vargrave  again?  "  and  Evelyn's  smile  vanished,  and 
she  turned  away. 

"Ah,"  said  Caroline,  "I  should  have  made  Vargrave  an 
excellent  wife  —  pity  he  does  not  think  so!  As  it  is,  I  must 
set  up  for  myself  and  become  a  maitresse  femme.  So  you 
think  I  look  well  to-night?  I  am  glad  of  it  —  Lord  Dolti- 
more  is  one  who  will  be  guided  by  what  other  people  say." 

"You  are  not  serious  about  Lord  Doltimore?" 

"Most  sadly  serious." 

"Impossible!  you  could  not  speak  so  if  you  loved  him." 

"Loved  him!  no!  but  I  intend  to  marry  him." 

Evelyn  was  revolted,  but  still  incredulous. 

"  And  you,  too,  will  marry  one  whom  you  do  not  love  —  't  is 
our  fate  —  " 


202  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Never!" 

"We  shall  see." 

Evelyn's  heart  was  damped,  and  her  spirits  fell. 

"Tell  me  now,"  said  Caroline,  pressing  on  the  wrung 
withers,  "do  you  not  think  this  excitement,  partial  and 
provincial  though  it  be  —  the  sense  of  beauty,  the  hope  of 
conquest,  the  consciousness  of  power  —  better  than  the  dull 
monotony  of  the  Devonshire  cottage?    Be  honest  —  " 

"  No,  no,  indeed ! "  answered  Evelyn,  tearfully  and  passion- 
ately; "one  hour  with  my  mother,  one  smile  from  her  lips, 
were  worth  it  all." 

"And  in  your  visions  of  marriage,  you  think  then  of 
nothing  but  roses  and  doves,  —  love  in  a  cottage ! " 

"Love  in  a  home,  no  matter  whether  a  palace  or  a  cottage," 
returned  Evelyn. 

"  Home !  "  repeated  Caroline,  bitterly ;  "  home,  —  home  is 
the  English  synonym  for  the  French  ennui.  But  I  hear  Papa 
on  the  stairs." 

A  ballroom  —  what  a  scene  of  commonplace!  how  hack- 
neyed in  novels!  how  trite  in  ordinary  life!  and  yet  ball- 
rooms have  a  character  and  a  sentiment  of  their  own,  for  all 
tempers  and  all  ages.  Something  in  the  lights,  the  crowd, 
the  music,  conduces  to  stir  up  many  of  the  thoughts  that 
belong  to  fancy  and  romance.  It  is  a  melancholy  scene  to 
men  after  a  certain  age.  It  revives  many  of  those  lighter 
and  more  graceful  images  connected  with  the  wandering  de- 
sires of  youth,  —  shadows  that  crossed  us,  and  seemed  love, 
but  were  not;  having  much  of  the  grace  and  charm,  but  none 
of  the  passion  and  the  tragedy,  of  love.  So  many  of  our 
earliest  and  gentlest  recollections  are  connected  with  those 
chalked  floors,  and  that  music  painfully  gay,  and  those  quiet 
nooks  and  corners,  where  the  talk  that  hovers  about  the  heart 
and  does  not  touch  it  has  been  held.  Apart  and  unsympathiz- 
ing  in  that  austerer  wisdom  which  comes  to  us  after  deep  pas- 
sions have  been  excited,  we  see  form  after  form  chasing  the 
butterflies  that  dazzle  us  no  longer  among  the  flowers  that 
have  evermore  lost  their  fragrance. 

Somehow  or  other,  it  is  one  of  the  scenes  that  remind  us 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES  203 

most  forcibly  of  the  loss  of  youth !  We  are  brought  so  closely 
in  contact  with  the  young  and  with  the  short-lived  pleasures 
that  once  pleased  us,  and  have  forfeited  all  bloom.  Happy 
the  man  who  turns  from  "  the  tinkling  cymbal "  and  "  the  gal- 
lery of  pictures,"  and  can  think  of  some  watchful  eye  and 
some  kind  heart  at  home;  but  those  who  have  no  home  —  and 
they  are  a  numerous  tribe  —  never  feel  lonelier  hermits  or 
sadder  moralists  than  in  such  a  crowd. 

Maltravers  leaned  abstractedly  against  the  wall,  and  some 
such  reflections,  perhaps,  passed  within,  as  the  plumes  waved 
and  the  diamonds  glittered  around  him.  Ever  too  proud  to 
be  vain,  the  monstrari  digito  had  not  flattered  even  in  the 
commencement  of  his  career.  And  now  he  heeded  not  the 
eyes  that  sought  his  look,  nor  the  admiring  murmur  of  lips 
anxious  to  be  overheard.  Affluent,  well-born,  unmarried, 
and  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  —  in  the  small  circles  of  a 
province,  Ernest  Maltravers  would  in  himself  have  been  an 
object  of  interest  to  the  diplomacy  of  mothers  and  daughters ; 
and  the  false  glare  of  reputation  necessarily  deepened  curi- 
osity, and  widened  the  range  of  speculators  and  observers. 

Suddenly,  however,  a  new  object  of  attention  excited  new 
interest;  new  whispers  ran  through  the  crowd,  and  these 
awakened  Maltravers  from  his  revery.  He  looked  up,  and 
beheld  all  eyes  fixed  upon  one  form!  His  own  eyes  encoun- 
tered those  of  Evelyn  Cameron! 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  this  beautiful  young 
person  in  all  the  eclat,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  her  station, 
as  the  heiress  of  the  opulent  Templeton,  —  the  first  time  he 
had  seen  her  the  cynosure  of  crowds,  who,  had  her  features 
been  homely,  would  have  admired  the  charms  of  her  fortune 
in  her  face.  And  now,  as  radiant  with  youth,  and  the  flush 
of  excitement  on  her  soft  cheek,  she  met  his  eye,  he  said  to 
himself :  "  And  could  I  have  wished  one  so  new  to  the  world 
to  have  united  her  lot  with  a  man  for  whom  all  that  to  her  is 
delight  has  grown  wearisome  and  stale?  Could  I  have  been 
justified  in  stealing  her  from  the  admiration  that,  at  her  age 
and  to  her  sex,  has  so  sweet  a  flattery?  Or,  on  the  other 
hand,  could  I  have  gone  back  to  her  years,  and  sympathized 


204  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

with  feelings  that  time  has  taught  me  to  despise?  Better  as 
it  is." 

Influenced  by  these  thoughts,  the  greeting  of  Maltravers 
disappointed  and  saddened  Evelyn,  she  knew  not  why ;  it  was 
constrained  and  grave. 

"Does  not  Miss  Cameron  look  well?"  whispered  Mrs. 
Merton,  on  whose  arm  the  heiress  leaned.  "You  observe 
what  a  sensation  she  creates?" 

Evelyn  overheard,  and  blushed  as  she  stole  a  glance  at 
Maltravers.  There  was  something  mournful  in  the  admira- 
tion which  spoke  in  his  deep  earnest  eyes. 

"Everywhere,"  said  he,  calmly,  and  in  the  same  tone, 
"everywhere  Miss  Cameron  appears,  she  must  outshine  all 
others."  He  turned  to  Evelyn,  and  said  with  a  smile,  "You 
must  learn  to  inure  yourself  to  admiration;  a  year  or  two 
hence,  and  you  will  not  blush  at  your  own  gifts !  " 

"  And  you,  too,  contribute  to  spoil  me !  —  fie !  " 

"Are  you  so  easily  spoiled?  If  I  meet  you  hereafter,  you 
will  think  my  compliments  cold  to  the  common  language  of 
others." 

"You  do  not  know  me,  — perhaps  you  never  will." 

"I  am  contented  with  the  fair  pages  I  have  already  read." 

"Where  is  Lady  Eaby?"  asked  Mrs.  Merton.  "Oh,  I  see; 
Evelyn,  my  love,  we  must  present  ourselves  to  our  hostess." 

The  ladies  moved  on;  and  when  Maltravers  next  caught  a 
glance  of  Evelyn,  she  was  with  Lady  Raby,  and  Lord  Var- 
grave  also  was  by  her  side. 

The  whispers  round  him  had  grown  louder. 

"Very  lovely  indeed  !  so  young,  too!  and  she  is  really 
going  to  be  married  to  Lord  Vargrave:  so  much  older  than 
she  is,  —  quite  a  sacrifice !  " 

"  Scarcely  so.  He  is  so  agreeable,  and  still  handsome.  But 
are  you  sure  that  the  thing  is  settled?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  Lord  Raby  himself  told  me  so.  It  will  take 
place  very  soon." 

"But  do  you  know  who  her  mother  was?  I  cannot  make 
out." 

"Nothing  particular.     You  know  the  late  Lord  Vargrave 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  205 

was  a  man  of  low  birth.  I  believe  she  was  a  widow  of  his 
own  rank;  she  lives  quite  in  seclusion." 

"How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Maltravers?  So  glad  to  see  you,"  said 
the  quick,  shrill  voice  of  Mrs.  Hare.  "Beautiful  balll  No- 
body does  things  like  Lord  Raby;  don't  you  dance?" 

"No,  madam." 

"  Oh,  you  young  gentlemen  are  so  fine  nowadays ! "  (Mrs. 
Hare,  laying  stress  on  the  word  young,  thought  she  had  paid 
a  very  elegant  compliment,  and  ran  on  with  increased 
complacency.) 

"  You  are  going  to  let  Burleigh,  I  hear,  to  Lord  Doltimore, 

—  is  it  true?  No!  really  now,  what  stories  people  do  tell. 
Elegant  man.  Lord  Doltimore  I  Is  it  true,  that  Miss  Caro- 
line is  going  to  marry  his  lordship?  Great  match!  No  scan- 
dal, I  hope;  you  '11  excuse  me!     Two  weddings  on  the  tapis, 

—  quite  stirring  for  our  stupid  county.  Lady  Vargrave  and 
Lady  Doltimore,  two  new  peeresses.  Which  do  you  think  is 
the  handsomer?  Miss  Merton  is  the  taller,  but  there  is  some- 
thing fierce  in  her  eyes.  Don't  you  think  so?  By  the  by,  I 
wish  you  joy,  — you  '11  excuse  we." 

"  Wish  me  joy,  madam?  " 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  close.  Mr.  Hare  says  he  shall  support  you. 
You  will  have  all  the  ladies  with  you.  Well,  I  declare,  Lord 
Vargrave  is  going  to  dance.     How  old  is  he,  do  you  think?  " 

Maltravers  uttered  an  audible  pshaw,  and  moved  away; 
but  his  penance  was  not  over.  Lord  Vargrave,  much  as  he 
disliked  dancing,  still  thought  it  wise  to  ask  the  fair  hand  of 
Evelyn;  and  Evelyn,  also,  could  not  refuse. 

And  now,  as  the  crowd  gathered  round  the  red  ropes, 
Maltravers  had  to  undergo  new  exclamations  at  Evelyn's 
beauty  and  Vargrave's  luck.  Impatiently  he  turned  from  the 
spot,  with  that  gnawing  sickness  of  the  heart  which  none  but 
the  jealous  know.  He  longed  to  depart,  yet  dreaded  to  do  so. 
It  was  the  last  time  he  should  see  Evelyn,  perhaps  for  years; 
the  last  time  he  should  see  her  as  Miss  Cameron ! 

He  passed  into  another  room,  deserted  by  all  save  four  old 
gentlemen  —  Cleveland  one  of  them  —  immersed  in  whist;  and 
tl^i^w  Ijimseljf  ,v^P9n,  ^p,  ottoman,  placed  in  a  recess  by  the  oriel 


206  ALICE;    OR,  THE   MYSTERIES. 

window.  There,  half  concealed  by  the  draperies,  he  com- 
mtlned  and  reasoned  with  himself.  His  heart  was  sad  within 
him;  he  never  felt  before  how  deeply  and  hoiv  passionately  he 
loved  Evelyn;  how  firmly  that  love  had  fastened  upon  the 
very  core  of  his  heart!  Strange,  indeed,  it  was  in  a  girl  so 
young,  of  whom  he  had  seen  but  little, — and  that  little  in 
positions  of  such  quiet  and  ordinary  interest,  —  to  excite  a 
passion  so  intense  in  a  man  who  had  gone  through  strong 
emotions  and  stern  trials!  But  all  love  is  unaccountable. 
The  solitude  in  which  Maltravers  had  lived,  the  absence  of 
all  other  excitement,  perhaps  had  contributed  largely  to  fan 
the  flame.  And  his  affections  had  so  long  slept,  and  after 
long  sleep  the  passions  wake  with  such  giant  strength !  He 
felt  now  too  well  that  the  last  rose  of  life  had  bloomed  for 
him;  it  was  blighted  in  its  birth,  but  it  could  never  be  re- 
placed. Henceforth,  indeed,  he  should  be  alone,  the  hopes 
of  home  were  gone  forever;  and  the  other  occupations  of  mind 
and  soul  —  literature,  pleasure,  ambition  —  were  already  for- 
sworn at  the  very  age  in  which  by  most  men  they  are  most 
indulged ! 

0  Youth!  begin  not  thy  career  too  soon,  and  let  one  passion 
succeed  in  its  due  order  to  another;  so  that  every  season  of 
life  may  have  its  appropriate  pursuit  and  charm! 

The  hours  waned ;  still  Maltravers  stirred  not ;  nor  were  his 
meditations  disturbed,  except  by  occasional  ejaculations  from 
the  four  old  gentlemen,  as  between  each  deal  they  moralized 
over  the  caprices  of  the  cards. 

At  length,  close  beside  him  he  heard  that  voice,  the  lightest 
sound  of  which  could  send  the  blood  rushing  through  his 
veins;  and  from  his  retreat  he  saw  Caroline  and  Evelyn, 
seated  close  by. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  former,  in  a  low  voice,  — "I  beg 
pardon,  Evelyn,  for  calling  you  away;  but  I  longed  to  tell 
you.  The  die  is  cast.  Lord  Doltimore  has  proposed,  and  I 
have  accepted  him!    Alas,  alas!    I  half  wish  I  could  retract!" 

"  Dearest  Caroline ! "  said  the  silver  voice  of  Evelyn,  "  for 
Heaven's  sake,  do  not  thus  wantonly  resolve  on  your  own 
unhappiness !    You  wrong  yourself,  Caroline !  you  do,  indeed ! 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  207 

You  are  not  the  vain  ambitious  character  you  affect  to  be! 
Ah,  what  is  it  you  require?  Wealth?  Are  you  not  my 
friend;  am  I  not  rich  enough  for  both?  Rank?  What  can 
it  give  you  to  compensate  for  the  misery  of  a  union  without 
love?  Pray,  forgive  me  for  speaking  thus.  Do  not  think  me 
presumptuous,  or  romantic;  but,  indeed,  indeed,  I  know  from 
my  own  heart  what  yours  must  undergo !  " 

Caroline  pressed  her  friend's  hand  with  emotion. 

"  You  are  a  bad  comforter,  Evelyn.  My  mother,  my  father, 
will  preach  a  very  different  doctrine.  I  am  foolish,  indeed, 
to  be  so  sad  in  obtaining  the  very  object  I  have  sought !  Poor 
Doltimore!  he  little  knows  the  nature,  the  feelings  of  her 
whom  he  thinks  he  has  made  the  happiest  of  her  sex;  he  little 
knows  — "  Caroline  paused,  turned  pale  as  death,  and  then 
went  rapidly  on,  "  but  you,  Evelyn,  yo%i  will  meet  the  same 
fate;  we  shall  bear  it  together." 

"Ko!  no!  do  not  think  so!  Where  I  give  my  hand,  there 
shall  I  give  my  heart." 

At  this  time  Maltravers  half  rose,  and  sighed  audibly. 

"  Hush ! "  said  Caroline,  in  alarm.  At  the  same  moment, 
the  whist-table  broke  up,  and  Cleveland  approached 
Maltravers. 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  said  he  ;  "I  know  you  will  not  stay 
the  supper.  You  will  find  me  in  the  next  room;  I  am  just 
going  to  speak  to  Lord  Saxingham."  The  gallant  old  gentle- 
man then  paid  a  compliment  to  the  young  ladies,  and  walked 
away. 

"  So  you  too  are  a  deserter  from  the  ballroom !  "  said  Miss 
Merton  to  Maltravers  as  she  rose. 

"I  am  not  very  well;  but  do  not  let  me  frighten  you  away." 

"Oh,  no!  I  hear  the  music;  it  is  the  last  quadrille  before 
supper:  and  here  is  my  fortunate  partner  looking  for  me." 

"I  have  been  everywhere  in  search  of  you,"  said  Lord 
Doltimore,  in  an  accent  of  tender  reproach:  "come,  we  are 
almost  too  late  now." 

Caroline  put  her  arm  into  Lord  Doltimore 's,  who  hurried 
her  into  the  ballroom. 

Miss  Cameron  looked  irresolute  whether  or  not  to  follow, 


208  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

when  Maltravers  seated  himself  beside  her;  and  the  paleness 
of  his  brow,  and  something  that  bespoke  pain  in  the  com- 
pressed lip,  went  at  once  to  her  heart.  In  her  childlike  ten- 
derness, she  would  have  given  worlds  for  the  sister's  privilege 
of  sympathy  and  soothing.  The  room  was  now  deserted ;  they 
were  alone. 

The  words  that  he  had  overheard  from  Evelyn's  lips, 
"Where  I  shall  give  my  hand,  there  shall  I  give  my  heart," 
Maltravers  interpreted  but  in  one  sense,  —  *'  she  loved  her  be- 
trothed ;  "  and  strange  as  it  may  seem,  at  that  thought,  which 
put  the  last  seal  upon  his  fate,  selfish  anguish  was  less  felt 
than  deep  compassion.  So  young,  so  courted,  so  tempted  as 
she  must  be  —  and  with  such  a  protector!  —  the  cold,  the 
unsympathizing,  the  heartless  Vargrave!  She,  too,  whose 
feelings,  so  warm,  ever  trembled  on  her  lip  and  eye.  Oh! 
when  she  awoke  from  her  dream,  and  knew  whom  she  had 
loved,  what  might  be  her  destiny,  what  her  danger! 

"Miss  Cameron,"  said  Maltravers,  "let  me  for  one  moment 
detain  you;  I  will  not  trespass  long.  May  I  once,  and  for  the 
last  time,  assume  the  austere  rights  of  friendship?  I  have 
seen  much  of  life.  Miss  Cameron,  and  my  experience  has  been 
purchased  dearly;  and  harsh  and  hermit-like  as  I  may  have 
grown,  I  have  not  outlived  such  feelings  as  you  are  well 
formed  to  excite.  Nay,"  —  and  Maltravers  smiled  sadly  —  "I 
am  not  about  to  compliment  or  flatter,  I  speak  uot  to  you  as 
the  young  to  the  young ;  the  difference  of  our  years,  that  takes 
away  sweetness  from  flattery,  leaves  still  sincerity  to  friend- 
ship. You  have  inspired  me  with  a  deep  interest,  —  deeper 
than  I  thought  that  living  beauty  could  ever  rouse  in  me 
again !  It  may  be  that  something  in  the  tone  of  your  voice, 
your  manner,  a  nameless  grace  that  I  cannot  define,  reminds 
me  of  one  whom  I  knew  in  youth,  —  one  who  had  not  your 
advantages  of  education,  wealth,  birth;  but  to  whom  Nature 
was  more  kind  than  Fortune." 

He  paused  a  moment;  and  without  looking  towards  Evelyn, 
thus  renewed,  — 

"You  are  entering  life  under  brilliant  auspices.  Ah,  let 
me  hope  that  the  noonday  will  keep  the  promise  of  the  dawn  I 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  209 

You  are  susceptible,  imaginative;  do  Dot  demand  too  much, 
or  dream  too  fondly.  When  you  are  wedded,  do  not  imagine 
that  wedded  life  is  exempt  from  its  trials  and  its  cares;  if 
you  know  yourself  beloved  —  and  beloved  you  must  be  —  do 
not  ask  from  the  busy  and  anxious  spirit  of  man  all  which 
Romance  promises  and  Life  but  rarely  yields.  And  oh!" 
continued  Maltravers,  with  an  absorbing  and  earnest  passion, 
that  poured  forth  its  language  with  almost  breathless  rapidity, 

—  "  if  ever  your  heart  rebels,  if  ever  it  be  dissatisfied,  fly  the 
false  sentiment  as  a  sin!  Thrown,  as  from  your  rank  you 
must  be,  on  a  world  of  a  thousand  perils,  with  no  guide  so 
constant  and  so  safe  as  your  own  innocence,  make  not  that 
world  too  dear  a  friend.  Were  it  possible  that  your  own 
home  ever  could  be  lonely  or  unhappy,  reflect  that  to  woman 
the  unhappiest  home  is  happier  than  all  excitement  abroad. 
You  will  have  a  thousand  suitors  hereafter:  believe  that  the 
asp  lurks  under  the  flatterer's  tongue,  and  resolve,  come  what 
may,  to  be  contented  with  your  lot.  How  many  have  I  known, 
lovely  and  pure  as  you,  who  have  suffered  the  very  affections 

—  the  very  beauty  of  their  nature  —  to  destroy  them!  Listen 
to  me  as  a  warner,  as  a  brother,  as  a  pilot  who  has  passed  the 
seas  on  which  your  vessel  is  about  to  launch.  And  ever,  ever 
let  me  know,  in  whatever  lands  your  name  may  reach  me, 
that  one  who  has  brought  back  to  me  all  my  faith  in  human 
excellence,  while  the  idol  of  our  sex,  is  the  glory  of  her  own. 
Forgive  me  this  strange  impertinence;  my  heart  is  full,  and 
has  overflowed.     And  now,  Miss  Cameron  —  Evelyn  Cameron 

—  this  is  my  last  offence,  and  my  last  farewell !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  involuntarily,  unknowingly,  she 
clasped  it,  as  if  to  detain  him  till  she  could  summon  words  to 
reply.  Suddenly  he  heard  Lord  Vargrave's  voice  behind. 
The  spell  was  broken;  the  next  moment  Evelyn  was  alone, 
and  the  throng  swept  into  the  room  towards  the  banquet,  and 
laughter  and  gay  voices  were  heard,  and  Lord  Vargrave  was 
again  by  Evelyn's  side! 


14 


210  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

To  you 
This  jourijey  is  devoted. 

Lover's  Progress,  Act  iv.  sc.  I . 

As  Cleveland  and  Maltravers  returned  homeward,  the  latter 
abruptly  checked  the  cheerful  garrulity  of  his  friend.  "I 
have  a  favour,  a  great  favour  to  ask  of  you." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"Let  us  leave  Burleigh  to-morrow;  I  care  not  at  what  hour; 
we  need  go  but  two  or  three  stages  if  you  are  fatigued." 

"Most  hospitable  host!  and  why?" 

"It  is  torture,  it  is  agony  to  me,  to  breathe  the  air  of 
Burleigh,"  cried  Maltravers,  wildly.  "Can  you  not  guess 
my  secret?  Have  I  then  concealed  it  so  well?  I  love,  I 
adore  Evelyn  Cameron,  and  she  is  betrothed  to  —  she  loves  — 
another ! " 

Mr.  Cleveland  was  breathless  with  amaze;  Maltravers  had 
indeed  so  well  concealed  his  secret,  and  now  his  emotion  was 
so  impetuous,  that  it  startled  and  alarmed  the  old  man,  who 
had  never  himself  experienced  a  passion,  though  he  had 
indulged  a  sentiment.  He  sought  to  console  and  soothe; 
but  after  the  first  burst  of  agony,  Maltravers  recovered  him- 
self, and  said  gently,  — 

"  Let  us  never  return  to  this  subject  again :  it  is  right  that 
I  should  conquer  this  madness,  and  conquer  it  I  will !  Now 
you  know  my  weakness,  you  will  indulge  it.  My  cure  cannot 
commence  until  I  can  no  longer  see  from  my  casements  the 
very  roof  that  shelters  the  affianced  bride  of  another." 

"Certainly,  then,  we  will  set  off  to-morrow:  my  poor 
friend!    is  it  indeed  —  " 

"Ah,  cease,"  interrupted  the  proud  man;  "no  compassion, 
I  implore :  give  me  but  time  and  silence,  —  they  are  the  only 
remedies." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  211 

Before  noon  the  next  day,  Burleigh  was  once  more  deserted 
by  its  lord.  As  the  carriage  drove  through  the  village,  Mrs. 
Elton  saw  it  from  her  open  window;  but  her  patron,  too  ab- 
sorbed at  that  hour  even  for  benevolence,  forgot  her  existence : 
and  yet  so  complicated  are  the  webs  of  fate,  that  in  the  breast 
of  that  lowly  stranger  was  locked  a  secret  of  the  most  vital 
moment  to  Maltravers. 

"Where  is  he  going;  where  is  the  squire  going?"  asked 
Mrs.  Elton,  anxiously. 

"  Dear  heart !  "  said  the  cottager,  "  they  do  say  he  be  going 
for  a  short  time  to  foren  parts.  But  he  will  be  back  at 
Christmas." 

"  And  at  Christmas  I  may  be  gone  hence  forever, "  muttered 
the  invalid;  "  but  what  will  that  matter  to  him  —  to  any  one?  " 

At  the  first  stage  Maltravers  and  his  friend  were  detained 
a  short  time  for  the  want  of  horses.  Lord  Eaby's  house  had 
been  filled  with  guests  on  the  preceding  night,  and  the  stables 
of  this  little  inn,  dignified  with  the  sign  of  the  Kaby  Arms, 
and  about  two  miles  distant  from  the  great  man's  place,  had 
been  exhausted  by  numerous  claimants  returning  homeward 
from  Knaresdean.  It  was  a  quiet,  solitary  post-house,  and 
patience,  till  some  jaded  horses  should  return,  was  the  only 
remedy;  the  host,  assuring  the  travellers  that  he  expected 
four  horses  every  moment,  invited  them  within.  The  morn- 
ing was  cold,  and  the  fire  not  unacceptable  to  Mr.  Cleveland; 
so  they  went  into  the  little  parlour.  Here  they  found  an 
elderly  gentleman  of  very  prepossessing  appearance,  who  was 
waiting  for  the  same  object.  He  moved  courteously  from 
the  fireplace   as    the    travellers    entered,    and    pushed    the 

"  B shire  Chronicle  "  towards  Cleveland :  Cleveland  bowed 

urbanely.  "A  cold  day,  sir;  the  autumn  begins  to  show 
itself." 

"It  is  true,  sir,"  answered  the  old  gentleman;  "and  I  feel 
the  cold  the  more,  having  just  quitted  the  genial  atmosphere 
of  the  South." 

"Of  Italy?" 

"  No,  of  England  only.  I  see  by  this  paper  (I  am  not  much 
of  a  politician)  that  there  is  a  chance  of  a  dissolution  of  par- 


212  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

liament,  and  that  Mr.  Maltravers  is  likely  to  come  forward 
for  this  county;  are  you  acquainted  with  him,  sir?" 

"A  little,"  said  Cleveland,  smiling. 

"He  is  a  man  I  am  much  interested  in,"  said  the  old 
gentleman;  "and  I  hope  soon  to  be  honoured  with  his 
acquaintance." 

"  Indeed !  and  you  are  going  into  his  neighbourhood?  "  asked 
Cleveland,  looking  more  attentively  at  the  stranger,  and  much 
pleased  with  a  certain  simple  candour  in  his  countenance  and 
manner. 

"Yes,  to  Merton  Rectory." 

Maltravers,  who  had  been  hitherto  stationed  by  the  window, 
turned  round. 

"To  Merton  Rectory?"  repeated  Cleveland.  "You  are 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Merton,  then?" 

"Not  yet;  but  I  know  some  of  his  family.  However,  my 
visit  is  rather  to  a  young  lady  who  is  staying  at  the  rectory, 
—  Miss  Cameron." 

Maltravers  sighed  heavily;  and  the  old  gentleman  looked 
at  him  curiously.  "Perhaps,  sir,  if  you  know  that  neigh- 
bourhood, you  may  have  seen  —  " 

"Miss  Cameron!  Certainly;  it  is  an  honour  not  easily 
forgotten." 

The  old  gentleman  looked  pleased. 

"  The  dear  child !  "  said  he,  with  a  burst  of  honest  affection, 
and  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  Maltravers  drew  near 
to  him. 

"You  know  Miss  Cameron;  you  are  to  be  envied,  sir," 
said  he. 

"  I  have  known  her  since  she  was  a  child ;  Lady  Vargrave 
is  my  dearest  friend." 

"  Lady  Vargrave  must  be  worthy  of  such  a  daughter.  Only 
under  the  light  of  a  sweet  disposition  and  pure  heart  could 
that  beautiful  nature  have  been  trained  and  reared." 

Maltravers  spoke  with  enthusiasm;  and,  as  if  fearful  to 
trust  himself  more,  left  the  room. 

"That  gentleman  speaks  not  more  warmly  than  justly,"  said 
the  old  man,  with  some  surprise.     "He  has  a  countenance 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  213 

which,  if  physiognomy  be  a  true  science,  declares  his  praise 
to  be  no  common  compliment;  may  I  inquire  his  name?" 

"Maltravers,"  replied  Cleveland,  a  little  vain  of  the  effect 
his  ex-pupil's  name  was  to  produce. 

The  curate  —  for  it  was  he  —  started  and  changed  counte- 
nance. 

"Maltravers!  but  he  is  not  about  to  leave  the  county?" 

"Yes,  for  a  few  months." 

Here  the  host  entered.  Four  horses,  that  had  been  only 
fourteen  miles,  had  just  re-entered  the  yard.  If  Mr.  Mal- 
travers  could  spare  two  to  that  gentleman,  who  had,  indeed, 
pre-engaged  them? 

"Certainly,"  said  Cleveland;  "but  be  quick." 

"And  is  Lord  Vargrave  still  at  Mr.  Merton's?"  asked  the 
curate,  musingly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  so.  Miss  Cameron  is  to  be  married  to 
him  very  shortly,  — is  it  not  so?" 

"  I  cannot  say, "  returned  Aubrey,  rather  bewildered.  "  You 
know  Lord  Vargrave,  sir?" 

"Extremely  well!" 

"And  you  think  him  worthy  of  Miss  Cameron?" 

"That  is  a  question  for  her  to  answer.  But  I  see  the 
horses  are  put  to.  Good-day,  sir!  Will  you  tell  your  fair 
young  friend  that  you  have  met  an  old  gentleman  who 
wishes  her  all  happiness;  and  if  she  ask  you  his  name,  say 
Cleveland?" 

So  saying,  Mr.  Cleveland  bowed,  and  re-entered  the  car- 
riage. But  Maltravers  was  yet  missing.  In  fact,  he  returned 
to  the  house  by  the  back  way,  and  went  once  more  into  the 
little  parlour.  It  was  something  to  see  again  one  who  would 
so  soon  see  Evelyn! 

"If  I  mistake  not,"  said  Maltravers,  "you  are  that  Mr. 
Aubrey  on  whose  virtues  I  have  often  heard  Miss  Cameron 
delight  to  linger?  Will  you  believe  my  regret  that  our 
acquaintance  is  now  so  brief?" 

As  Maltravers  spoke  thus  simply,  there  was  in  his  counte- 
nance, his  voice,  a  melancholy  sweetness,  which  greatly  con- 
ciliated the  good  curate ;  and  as  Aubrey  gazed  upon  his  noble 


214  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

features  and  lofty  mien,  he  no  longer  wondered  at  the  fasci- 
nation he  had  appeared  to  exercise  over  the  young  Evelyn. 

"And  may  I  not  hope,  Mr.  Maltravers,"  said  he,  "that 
before  long  our  acquaintance  may  be  renewed?  Could  not 
Miss  Cameron,"  he  added,  with  a  smile  and  a  penetrating 
look,  "tempt  you  into  Devonshire?" 

Maltravers  shook  his  head,  and,  muttering  something  not 
very  audible,  quitted  the  room.  The  curate  heard  the  whirl 
of  the  wheels,  and  the  host  entered  to  inform  him  that  his 
own  carriage  was  now  ready. 

"There  is  something  in  this,"  thought  Aubrey,  "which  I 
do  not  comprehend.  His  manner,  his  trembling  voice,  be- 
spoke emotions  he  struggled  to  conceal.  Can  Lord  Vargrave 
have  gained  his  point?    Is  Evelyn,  indeed,  no  longer  free?" 


CHAPTER   V. 

Ceetes,  c'est  un  grand  cas,  leas, 

Que  toujours  tracas  ou  fracas 

Vous  faites  d'une  ou  d'autre  sort ; 

C'est  le  diable  qui  vous  emporte !  ^  —  Voiture. 

Lord  Vargrave  had  passed  the  night  of  the  ball  and  the 
following  morning  at  Knaresdean.  It  was  necessary  to  bring 
the  counsels  of  the  scheming  conclave  to  a  full  and  definite 
conclusion;  and  this  was  at  last  effected.  Their  strength 
numbered,  friends  and  foes  alike  canvassed  and  considered, 
and  due  account  taken  of  the  waverers  to  be  won  over,  it 
really  did  seem,  even  to  the  least  sanguine,  that  the  Saxing- 
ham  or  Vargrave  party  was  one  that  might  well  aspire  either 
to  dictate  to,  or  to  break  up,  a  government.  Nothing  now 
was  left  to  consider  but  the  favourable  hour  for  action.  In 
high  spirits.  Lord  Vargrave  returned  about  the  middle  of  the 
day  to  the  rectory. 

1  "  Certes,  it  is  the  fact,  leas,  that  you  are  always  engaged  in  tricks  or 
scrapes  of  some  sort  or  other ;  it  must  be  the  devil  that  bewitches  you." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  215 

"So,"  thougM  he,  as  he  reclined  in  his  carriage,  — "so,  in 
politics,  the  prospect  clears  as  the  sun  breaks  out.  The  party 
I  have  espoused  is  one  that  must  be  the  most  durable,  for  it 
possesses  the  greatest  property  and  the  most  stubborn  preju- 
dice —  what  elements  for  Party !  All  that  I  now  require  is  a 
sufficient  fortune  to  back  my  ambition.  Nothing  can  clog  my 
way  but  these  cursed  debts,  this  disreputable  want  of  gold. 
And  yet  Evelyn  alarms  me!  Were  I  younger,  or  had  I  not 
made  my  position  too  soon,  I  would  marry  her  by  fraud  or  by 
force,  —  run  off  with  her  to  Gretna,  and  make  Vulcan  minis- 
ter to  Plutus.  But  this  would  never  do  at  my  years,  and 
with  my  reputation.  A  pretty  story  for  the  newspapers,  d — n 
them !  Well,  nothing  venture,  nothing  have ;  I  will  brave  the 
hazard!  Meanwhile,  Doltimore  is  mine;  Caroline  will  rule 
him,  and  I  rule  her.  His  vote  and  his  boroughs  are  some- 
thing, —  his  money  will  be  more  immediately  useful :  I  must 
do  him  the  honour  to  borrow  a  few  thousands, — Caroline 
must  manage  that  for  me.  The  fool  is  miserly,  though  a 
spendthrift;  and  looked  black  when  1  delicately  hinted  the 
other  day  that  I  wanted  a  friend  —  id  est,  a  loan !  money  and 
friendship  same  thing, — distinction  without  a  difference!" 
Thus  cogitating,  Vargrave  whiled  away  the  minutes  till  his 
carriage  stopped  at  Mr.  Merton's  door. 

As  he  entered  the  hall  he  met  Caroline,  who  had  just  quitted 
her  own  room. 

"  How  lucky  I  am  that  you  have  on  your  bonnet !     I  long 
for  a  walk  with  you  round  the  lawn." 

"And  I,  too,  am  glad  to  see  you,  Lord  Vargrave,"  said 
Caroline,  putting  her  arm  in  his. 

"Accept  my  best  congratulations,  my  own  sweet  friend," 
said  Vargrave,  when  they  were  in  the  grounds.  "  You  have 
no  idea  how  happy  Doltimore  is.  He  came  to  Knaresdean 
yesterday  to  communicate  the  news,  and  his  neckcloth  was 
primmer  than  ever.     C'est  un  bon  enfant." 

"Ah,  how  can  you  talk  thus?  Do  you  feel  no  pain  at  the 
thought  that  —  that  I  am  another's?" 

"Your  heart  will  be  ever  mine, — and  that  is  the  true 
fidelity.     What  else,  too,  could  be  done?    As  for  Lord  Dolti- 


216  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

more,  we  will  go  shares  in  him.  Come,  cheer  thee,  m'amie  ; 
I  rattle  on  thus  to  keep  up  your  spirits.  Do  not  fancy  I 
am  happy ! " 

Caroline  let  fall  a  few  tears ;  but  beneath  the  influence  of 
Vargrave's  sophistries  and  flatteries,  she  gradually  recovered 
her  usual  hard  and  worldly  tone  of  mind. 

"And  where  is  Evelyn?"  asked  Vargrave.  "Do  you  know, 
the  little  witch  seemed  to  be  half  mad  the  night  of  the  ball. 
Her  head  was  turned;  and  when  she  sat  next  me  at  sup- 
per, she  not  only  a.nswered  every  question  I  put  to  her  a 
tort  et  a  travers,  but  I  fancied  every  moment  she  was  going 
to  burst  out  crying.  Can  you  tell  what  was  the  matter  with 
her?" 

"  She  was  grieved  to  hear  that  I  was  to  be  married  to  the 
man  I  do  not  love.  Ah,  Vargrave,  she  has  more  heart  than 
you  have ! " 

"But  she  never  fancies  that  you  love  me?"  asked  Lumley, 
in  alarm.     "  You  women  are  so  confoundedly  confidential !  " 

"No,  she  does  not  suspect  our  secret." 

"  Then  I  scarcely  think  your  approaching  marriage  was  a 
sufficient  cause  for  so  much  distraction." 

"  Perhaps  she  may  have  overheard  some  of  the  impertinent 
whispers  about  her  mother, — 'Who  was  Lady  Vargrave?' 
and  '  What  Cameron  was  Lady  Vargrave's  first  husband?  '  / 
overheard  a  hundred  such  vulgar  questions;  and  provincial 
people  whisper  so  loud." 

"Ah,  that  is  a  very  probable  solution  of  the  mystery;  and 
for  my  part,  I  am  almost  as  much  puzzled  as  any  one  else  can 
be  to  know  who  Lady  Vargrave  was !  " 

"  Did  not  your  uncle  tell  you?  " 

"He  told  me  that  she  was  of  no  very  elevated  birth  and 
station, — nothing  more;  and  she  herself,  with  her  quiet, 
say-nothing  manner,  slips  through  all  my  careless  question- 
ings like  an  eel.  She  is  still  a  beautiful  creature,  more  regu- 
larly handsome  than  even  Evelyn ;  and  old  Templeton  had  a 
very  sweet  tooth  at  the  back  of  his  head,  though  he  never 
opened  his  mouth  wide  enough  to  show  it." 

"  She  must  ever  at  least  have  been  blameless,  to  judge  by 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  217 

an  air  which,  even  now,  is  more  like  that  of  a  child  than  a 
matron." 

"Yes;  she  has  not  much  of  the  widow  about  her,  poor  soul! 
But  her  education,  except  in  music,  has  not  been  very  care- 
fully attended  to;  and  she  knows  about  as  much  of  the  world 
as  the  Bishop  of  Autun  (better  known  as  Prince  Talleyrand) 
knows  of  the  Bible.  If  she  were  not  so  simple,  she  would  be 
silly;  but  silliness  is  never  simple, — always  cunning;  how- 
ever, there  is  some  cunning  in  her  keeping  her  past  Cameron- 
ian  Chronicles  so  close.     Perhaps  I  may  know  more  about  her 

in  a  short  time,  for  I  intend  going  to  C ,  where  my  uncle 

once  lived,  in  order  to  see  if  I  can  revive  under  the  rose  — 
since  peers  are  only  contraband  electioneerers  —  his  old  par- 
liamentary influence  in  that  city:  and  they  may  tell  me  more 
there  than  I  now  know." 

"  Did  the  late  lord  marry  at  C ?  " 

"Xo;  in  Devonshire.  I  do  not  even  know  if  Mrs.  Cameron 
ever  was  at  C . " 

"You  must  be  curious  to  know  who  the  father  of  your 
intended  wife  was?" 

"Her  father!  No;  I  have  no  curiosity  in  that  quarter. 
And,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  much  too  busy  about  the 
Present  to  be  raking  into  that  heap  of  rubbish  we  call  the 
Past.  I  fancy  that  both  your  good  grandmother  and  that 
comely  old  curate  of  Brook-Green  know  everything  about 
Lady  Vargrave;  and,  as  they  esteem  her  so  much,  I  take  it 
for  granted  she  is  sans  tache^ 

"  How  could  I  be  so  stupid !  A  propos  of  the  curate,  I  for- 
got to  tell  you  that  he  is  here.  He  arrived  about  two  hours 
ago,  and  has  been  closeted  with  Evelyn  ever  since!  " 

"The  deuce!     What  brought  the  old  man  hither?" 

"That  I  know  not.  Papa  received  a  letter  from  him  yes- 
terday morning,  to  say  that  he  would  be  here  to-day.  Perhaps 
Lady  Vargrave  thinks  it  time  for  Evelyn  to  return  home." 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  said  Vargrave,  anxiously.  "Dare  I 
yet  venture  to  propose?" 

"  I  am  sure  it  will  be  in  vain,  Vargrave.  You  must  prepare 
for  disappointment." 


218  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"And  ruin,"  muttered  Vargrave,  gloomily.  "Hark  you, 
Caroline,  she  may  refuse  me  if  she  pleases.  But  I  am  not  a 
man  to  be  baffled.  Have  her  I  will,  by  one  means  or  another ; 
revenge  urges  me  to  it  almost  as  much  as  ambition.  That 
girl's  thread  of  life  has  been  the  dark  line  in  my  woof;  she 
has  robbed  me  of  fortune,  she  now  thwarts  me  in  my  career, 
she  humbles  me  in  my  vanity.  But,  like  a  hound  that  has 
tasted  blood,  I  will  run  her  down,  whatever  winding  she 
takes." 

"Vargrave,  you  terrify  me!  Keflect;  we  do  not  live  in  an 
age  when  violence  —  " 

"  Tush !  "  interrupted  Lumley,  with  one  of  those  dark  looks 
which  at  times,  though  very  rarely,  swept  away  all  its  cus- 
tomary character  from  that  smooth,  shrewd  countenance. 
"  Tush  !  We  live  in  an  age  as  favourable  to  intellect  and  to 
energy  as  ever  was  painted  in  romance.  I  have  that  faith  in 
fortune  and  myself  that  I  tell  you,  with  a  prophet's  voice, 
that  Evelyn  shall  fulfil  the  wish  of  my  dying  uncle.  But  the 
bell  summons  us  back." 

On  returning  to  the  house.  Lord  Vargrave's  valet  gave 
him  a  letter  which  had  arrived  that  morning.  It  was  from 
Mr.  Gustavus  Douce,  and  ran  thus :  — 

Fleet  Street, 20,  18 — . 

My  Lord,  —  It  is  with  the  greatest  regret  that  1  apprise  you,  for 
Self  &  Co.,  that  we  shall  not  be  able  in  the  present  state  of  the  Money 
Market  to  renew  your  Lordship's  bill  for  £10,000,  due  the  28th  instant. 
Respectfully  calling  your  Lordship's  attention  to  the  same,  I  have  the 
honour  to  be,  for  Self  &  Co.,  my  Lord, 

Your  Lordship's  most  obedient  and  most  obliged  humble  servant, 

Gustavus  Douce. 
To  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Vargrave,  etc. 

This  letter  sharpened  Lord  Vargrave's  anxiety  and  resolve; 
nay,  it  seemed  almost  to  sharpen  his  sharp  features  as  he  mut- 
tered sundry  denunciations  on  Messrs.  Douce  and  Co.,  while 
arranging  his  neckcloth  at  the  glass. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  219 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Sol.  Why,  please  your  honourable  lordship,  we  were  talking  here  and 
there,  —  this  and  that.  —  The  Stranger. 

Aubrey  had  been  closeted  with  Evelyn  the  whole  morning; 
and,  simultaneous  with  his  arrival,  came  to  her  the  news  of 
the  departure  of  Maltravers.  It  was  an  intelligence  that 
greatly  agitated  and  unnerved  her;  and,  coupling  that  event 
with  his  solemn  words  on  the  previous  night,  Evelyn  asked 
herself,  in  wonder,  what  sentiments  she  could  have  inspired 
in  Maltravers.  Could  he  love  her, — her,  so  young,  so  infe- 
rior, so  uninformed?  Impossible!  Alas!  alas!  for  Mal- 
travers! His  genius,  his  gifts,  his  towering  qualities, — 
all  that  won  the  admiration,  almost  the  awe,  of  Evelyn,  — 
placed  him  at  a  distance  from  her  heart!  When  she  asked 
herself  if  he  loved  her,  she  did  not  ask,  even  in  that  hour,  if 
she  loved  him.  But  even  the  question  she  did  ask,  her  judg- 
ment answered  erringly  in  the  negative.  Why  should  he  love, 
and  yet  fly  her?  She  understood  not  his  high- wrought  scru- 
ples, his  self-deluding  belief.  Aubrey  was  more  puzzled  than 
enlightened  by  his  conversation  with  his  pupil;  only  one 
thing  seemed  certain,  —  her  delight  to  return  to  the  cottage 
and  her  mother. 

Evelyn  could  not  sufficiently  recover  her  composure  to  mix 
with  the  party  below;  and  Aubrey,  at  the  sound  of  the  second 
dinner-bell,  left  her  to  her  solitude,  and  bore  her  excuses  to 
Mrs.  Merton. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  that  worthy  lady ;  "  I  am  so  sorry.  I 
thought  Miss  Cameron  looked  fatigued  at  breakfast,  and 
there  was  something  hysterical  in  her  spirits;  and  I  sup- 
pose the  surprise  of  your  arrival  has  upset  her.  Caroline, 
my  dear,  you  had  better  go  and  see  what  she  would  like  to 
have  taken  up  to  her  room,  — a  little  soup  and  the  wing  of  a 
chicken." 


220  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Merton,  rather  pompously,  "I  think 
it  would  be  but  a  proper  respect  to  Miss  Cameron,  if  you 
yourself  accompanied  Caroline." 

"I  assure  you,"  said  the  curate,  alarmed  at  the  avalanche 
of  politeness  that  threatened  poor  Evelyn,  —  "I  assure  you 
that  Miss  Cameron  would  prefer  being  left  alone  at  present; 
as  you  say,  Mrs.  Merton,  her  spirits  are  rather  agitated." 

But  Mrs.  Merton,  with  a  sliding  bow,  had  already  quitted 
the  room,  and  Caroline  with  her. 

"  Come  back,  Sophy !  Cecilia,  come  back !  "  said  Mr.  Mer- 
ton, settling  his  jabot. 

"  Oh,  dear  Evy !  poor  dear  Evy !  —  Evy  is  ill !  "  said  Sophy ; 
"I  may  go  to  Evy?     I  must  go.  Papa!  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  you  are  too  noisy ;  these  children  are  quite 
spoiled,  Mr.  Aubrey." 

The  old  man  looked  at  them  benevolently,  and  drew  them 
to  his  knee;  and,  while  Cissy  stroked  his  long  white  hair, 
and  Sophy  ran  on  about  dear  Evy's  prettiness  and  goodness, 
Lord  Vargrave  sauntered  into  the  room. 

On  seeing  the  curate,  his  frank  face  lighted  up  with  sur- 
prise and  pleasure;  he  hastened  to  him,  seized  him  by  both 
hands,  expressed  the  most  heartfelt  delight  at  seeing  him, 
inquired  tenderly  after  Lady  Vargrave,  and,  not  till  he  was 
out  of  breath,  and  Mrs.  Merton  and  Caroline  returning  ap- 
prised him  of  Miss  Cameron's  indisposition,  did  his  rapture 
vanish;  and,  as  a  moment  before  he  was  all  joy,  so  now  he 
was  all  sorrow. 

The  dinner  passed  off  dully  enough;  the  children,  re- 
admitted to  dessert,  made  a  little  relief  to  all  parties;  and 
when  they  and  the  two  ladies  went,  Aubrey  himself  quickly 
rose  to  join  Evelyn. 

"Are  you  going  to  Miss  Cameron?"  said  Lord  Vargrave; 
"pray  say  how  unhappy  I  feel  at  her  illness.  I  think  these 
grapes  —  they  are  very  fine  —  could  not  hurt  her.  May  I  ask 
you  to  present  them  with  my  best  —  best  and  most  anxious  re- 
gards? I  shall  be  so  uneasy  till  you  return.  Now,  Merton  (as 
the  door  closed  on  the  curate),  let 's  have  another  bottle  of  this 
famous  claret!     Droll  old  fellow  that,  —  quite  a  character  I  " 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  221 

"He  is  a  great  favourite  with  Lady  Vargrave  and  Miss 
Cameron,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Merton.  "A  mere  village 
priest,  I  suppose;  no  talent,  no  energy  —  or  he  could  not 
be  a  curate  at  that  age." 

"  Very  true,  —  a  shrewd  remark.  The  Church  is  as  good  a 
profession  as  any  other  for  getting  on,  if  a  man  has  anything 
in  him.     I  shall  live  to  see  you  a  bishop !  " 

Mr.  Merton  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  I  shall;  though  you  have  hitherto  disdained  to 
exhibit  any  one  of  the  three  orthodox  qualifications  for  a 
mitre." 

"  And  what  are  they,  my  lord?  " 

"Editing  a  Greek  play,  writing  a  political  pamphlet,  and 
apostatizing  at  the  proper  moment." 

"Ha,  ha  !  your  lordship  is  severe  on  us." 

"  Not  I ;  I  often  wish  I  had  been  brought  up  to  the  Church, 
—  famous  profession,  properly  understood.  By  Jupiter,  I 
should  have  been  a  capital  •  bishop !  " 

In  his  capacity  of  parson,  Mr.  Merton  tried  to  look  grave ; 
in  his  capacity  of  a  gentlemanlike,  liberal  fellow,  he  gave  up 
the  attempt,  and  laughed  pleasantly  at  the  joke  of  the  rising 
man. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Will  nothing  please  you"? 

What  do  you  think  of  the  Court  1  —  The  Plain  Dealer. 

On  one  subject  Aubrey  found  no  difficulty  in  ascertaining 
Evelyn's  wishes  and  condition  of  mind.  The  experiment  of 
her  visit,  so  far  as  Vargrave's  hopes  were  concerned,  had 
utterly  failed ;  she  could  not  contemplate  the  prospect  of  his 
alliance,  and  she  poured  out  to  the  curate,  frankly  and  fully, 
all  her  desire  to  effect  a  release  from  her  engagement.  As  it 
was  now  settled  that  she  should  return  with  Aubrey  to  Brook- 
Green,  it  was  indeed  necessary  to  come  to  the  long-delayed 


222  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

understanding  with  her  betrothed.  Yet  this  was  difficult,  for 
he  had  so  little  pressed,  so  distantly  alluded  to,  their  engage- 
ment, that  it  was  like  a  forwardness,  an  indelicacy  in  Evelyn  to 
forestall  the  longed-for  yet  dreaded  explanation.  This,  how- 
ever, Aubrey  took  upon  himself;  and  at  this  promise  Evelyn 
felt  as  the  slave  may  feel  when  the  chain  is  stricken  off. 

At  breakfast,  Mr.  Aubrey  communicated  to  the  Mertons 
Evelyn's  intention  to  return  with  him  to  Brook-Green  on  the 
following  day.  Lord  Vargrave  started,  bit  his  lip,  but  said 
nothing. 

Not  so  silent  was  Mr.  Merton. 

"Keturn  with  you!  my  dear  Mr,  Aubrey,  just  consider;  it  is 
impossible!  You  see  Miss  Cameron's  rank  of  life,  her  posi- 
tion, —  so  very  strange ;  no  servants  of  her  own  here  but  her 
woman,  —  no  carriage  even !  You  would  not  have  her  travel 
in  a  post-chaise  such  a  long  journey!  Lord  Vargrave,  you 
can  never  consent  to  that,  I  am  sure?  " 

"Were  it  only  as  Miss  Cameron's  guardian,^^  said  Lord 
Vargrave,  pointedly,  "I  should  certainly  object  to  such  a 
mode  of  performing  such  a  journey.  Perhaps  Mr.  Aubrey 
means  to  perfect  the  project  by  taking  two  outside  places  on 
the  top  of  the  coach?  " 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  curate,  mildly,  "but  I  am  not  so 
ignorant  of  what  is  due  to  Miss  Cameron  as  you  suppose. 
Lady  Vargrave's  carriage,  which  brought  me  hither,  will  be 
no  unsuitable  vehicle  for  Lady  Vargrave's  daughter;  and  Miss 
Cameron  is  not,  I  trust,  quite  so  spoiled  by  all  your  friendly 
attentions  as  to  be  unable  to  perform  a  journey  of  two  days 
with  no  other  protector  than  myself." 

"I  forgot  Lady  Vargrave's  carriage,  — or  rather  I  was  not 
aware  that  you  had  used  it,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Merton. 
"But  you  must  not  blame  us,  if  we  are  sorry  to  lose  Miss 
Cameron  so  suddenly;  I  was  in  hopes  that  you  too  would  stay 
at  least  a  week  with  us." 

The  curate  bowed  at  the  rector's  condescending  politeness ; 
and  just  as  he  was  about  to  answer,  Mrs.  Merton  put  in,  — 

"  And  you  see  I  had  set  my  heart  on  her  being  Caroline's 
bridesmaid." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  228 

Caroline  turned  pale,  and  glanced  at  Vargrave,  who  ap- 
peared solely  absorbed  in  breaking  toast  into  his  tea,  —  a 
delicacy  he  had  never  before  been  known  to  favour. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  The  servant  opportunely 
entered  with  a  small  parcel  of  books,  a  note  to  Mr.  Merton, 
and  that  most  blessed  of  all  blessed  things  in  the  country,  — 
the  letter-bag. 

"What  is  this?"  said  the  rector,  opening  his  note,  while 
Mrs.  Merton  unlocked  the  bag  and  dispensed  the  contents: 
"Left  Burleigh  for  some  months,  a  day  or  two  sooner  than  he 
had  expected;  excuse  French  leave-taking;  return  Miss  Mer- 
ton's  books,  much  obliged;  gamekeeper  has  orders  to  place 
the  Burleigh  preserves  at  my  disposal.  So  we  have  lost  our 
neighbour ! " 

"Did  you  not  know  Mr.  Maltravers  was  gone?"  said  Caro- 
line. "I  heard  so  from  Jenkins  last  night;  he  accompanies 
Mr.  Cleveland  to  Paris." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Mrs.  Merton,  opening  her  eyes.  "  What 
could  take  him  to  Paris?" 

"Pleasure,  I  suppose,"  answered  Caroline.  "I'm  sure  I 
should  rather  have  wondered  what  could  detain  him  at 
Burleigh." 

Vargrave  was  all  this  while  breaking  open  seals  and  run- 
ning his  eyes  over  sundry  scrawls  with  the  practised  rapidity 
of  the  man  of  business;  he  came  to  the  last  letter.  His  coun- 
tenance brightened. 

"Royal  invitation,  or  rather  command,  to  Windsor,"  he 
cried.     "I  am  afraid  I,  too,  must  leave  you,  this  very  day." 

"Bless  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Merton;  "is  that  from  the 
king?    Do  let  me  see!  " 

"Not  exactly  from  the  king;  the  same  thing  though:"  and 
Lord  Vargrave,  carelessly  pushing  the  gracious  communica- 
tion towards  the  impatient  hand  and  loyal  gaze  of  Mrs.  Mer- 
ton, carefully  put  the  other  letters  in  his  pocket,  and  walked 
musingly  to  the  window. 

Aubrey  seized  the  opportunity  to  approach  him.  "My 
lord,  can  I  speak  with  you  a  few  moments?" 

"Me!  certainly;  will  you  come  to  my  dressing-room? " 


224  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

.     .     There  was  never 
Poor  gentleman  had  such  a  sudden  fortune. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher  :  The  Captain,  Act  v.  sc.  5. 

"  My  lord,  "  said  the  curate,  as  Vargrave,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  appeared  to  examine  the  shape  of  his  boots,  while 
in  reality  "his  sidelong  looks,"  not  "of  love,"  were  fixed 
upon  his  companion,  —  "I  need  scarcely  refer  to  the  wish  of 
the  late  lord,  your  uncle,  relative  to  Miss  Cameron  and  your- 
self; nor  need  I,  to  one  of  a  generous  spirit,  add  that  an 
engagement  could  be  only  so  far  binding  as  both  the  parties 
whose  happiness  is  concerned  should  be  willing  in  proper  time 
and  season  to  fulfil  it." 

"  Sir ! "  said  Vargrave,  impatiently  waving  his  hand ;  and, 
in  his  irritable  surmise  of  what  was  to  come,  losing  his  habit- 
ual self-control,  "I  know  not  what  all  this  has  to  do  with 
you ;  surely  you  trespass  upon  ground  sacred  to  Miss  Cameron 
and  myself?  Whatever  you  have  to  say,  let  me  beg  you  to 
come  at  once  to  the  point." 

"My  lord,  I  will  obey  you.  Miss  Cameron  —  and,  I  may 
add,  with  Lady  Vargrave's  consent  —  deputes  me  to  say 
that,  although  she  feels  compelled  to  decline  the  honour  of 
your  lordship's  alliance,  yet  if  in  any  arrangement  of  the  for- 
tune bequeathed  to  her  she  could  testify  to  you,  my  lord,  her 
respect  and  friendship,  it  would  afford  her  the  most  sincere 
gratification." 

Lord  Vargrave  started. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  know  not  if  I  am  to  thank  you  for  this 
information,  the  announcement  of  which  so  strangely  coin- 
cides with  your  arrival.  But  allow  me  to  say  that  there  needs 
no  ambassador  between  Miss  Cameron  and  myself.  It  is  due, 
sir,  to  my  station,  to  my  relationship,  to  my  character  of 
guardian,  to  my  long  and  faithful  affection,  to  all  considera- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  225 

tions  which  men  of  the  world  understand,  which  men  of  feel- 
ing sympathize  with,  to  receive  from  Miss  Cameron  alone  the 
rejection  of  my  suit." 

"Unquestionably  Miss  Cameron  will  grant  your  lordship 
the  interview  you  have  a  right  to  seek;  but  pardon  me,  I 
thought  it  might  save  you  both  much  pain,  if  the  meeting 
Vere  prepared  by  a  third  person ;  and  on  any  matter  of  busi- 
ness, any  atonement  to  your  lordship  —  " 

"Atonement!  what  can  atone  to  me?"  exclaimed  Vargrave, 
as  he  walked  to  and  fro  the  room  in  great  disorder  and  excite- 
ment. "  Can  you  give  me  back  years  of  hope  and  expectancy, 
—  the  manhood  wasted  in  a  vain  dream?  Had  I  not  been 
taught  to  look  to  this  reward,  should  I  have  rejected  all  occa- 
sion—  while  my  youth  was  not  yet  all  gone,  while  my  heart 
was  not  yet  all  occupied  —  to  form  a  suitable  alliance?  Nay, 
should  I  have  indulged  in  a  high  and  stirring  career,  for 
which  my  own  fortune  is  by  no  means  qualified?  Atone- 
ment! atonement!  Talk  of  atonement  to  boys !  Sir,  I  stand 
before  you  a  man  whose  private  happiness  is  blighted,  whose 
public  prospects  are  darkened,  life  wasted,  fortunes  ruined,  the 
schemes  of  an  existence  built  upon  one  hope,  which  was  law- 
fully indulged,  overthrown ;  and  you  talk  to  me  of  atonement !  " 

Selfish  as  the  nature  of  this  complaint  might  be,  Aubrey 
was  struck  with  its  justice. 

"My  lord,"  said  he,  a  little  embarrassed,  "I  cannot  deny 
that  there  is  truth  in  much  of  what  you  say.  Alas !  it  proves 
how  vain  it  is  for  man  to  calculate  on  the  future;  how  un- 
happily your  uncle  erred  in  imposing  conditions,  which  the 
chances  of  life  and  the  caprices  of  affection  could  at  any 
time  dissolve !  But  this  is  blame  that  attaches  only  to  the 
dead :  can  you  blame  the  living?  " 

"  Sir,  I  considered  myself  bound  by  my  uncle's  prayer  to 
keep  my  hand  and  heart  disengaged,  that  this  title  —  misera- 
ble and  barren  distinction  though  it  be! — might,  as  he  so 
ardently  desired,  descend  to  Evelyn.  I  had  a  right  to  expect 
similar  honour  upon  her  side !  " 

"  Surely,  my  lord,  you,  to  whom  the  late  lord  on  his  death- 
bed confided  all  the  motives  of  his  conduct  and  the  secret  of 

15 


226  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

his  life,  cannot  but  be  aware  that,  while  desirous  of  promot- 
ing your  worldly  welfare,  and  uniting  in  one  line  his  rank  and 
his  fortune,  your  uncle  still  had  Evelyn's  happiness  at  heart 
as  his  warmest  wish;  you  must  know  that,  if  that  happiness 
were  forfeited  by  a  marriage  with  you,  the  marriage  became 
but  a  secondary  consideration.  Lord  Vargrave's  will  in  itself 
was  a  proof  of  this.  He  did  not  impose  as  an  absolute  condi- 
tion upon  Evelyn  her  union  with  yourself;  he  did  not  make 
the  forfeiture  of  her  whole  wealth  the  penalty  of  her  rejection 
of  that  alliance.  By  the  definite  limit  of  the  forfeit,  he  inti- 
mated a  distinction  between  a  command  and  a  desire.  And 
surely,  when  you  consider  all  circumstances,  your  lordship 
must  think  that,  what  with  that  forfeit  and  the  estate  settled 
upon  the  title,  your  uncle  did  all  that  in  a  worldly  point  of 
view  equity  and  even  affection  could  exact  from  him. " 

Vargrave  smiled  bitterly,  but  said  nothing. 

"And  if  this  be  doubted,  I  have  clearer  proof  of  his  inten- 
tions. Such  was  his  confidence  in  Lady  Vargrave,  that  in  the 
letter  he  addressed  to  her  before  his  death,  and  which  I  now 
submit  to  your  lordship,  you  will  observe  that  he  not  only 
expressly  leaves  it  to  Lady  Vargrave's  discretion  to  commu- 
nicate to  Evelyn  that  history  of  which  she  is  at  present  igno- 
rant, but  that  he  also  clearly  defines  the  line  of  conduct  he 
wished  to  be  adopted  with  respect  to  Evelyn  and  yourself. 
Permit  me  to  point  out  the  passage." 

Impatiently  Lord  Vargrave  ran  his  eye  over  the  letter 
placed  in  his  hand,  till  he  came  to  these  lines :  — 

"  And  if,  when  she  has  arrived  at  the  proper  age  to  form  a  judgment, 
Evelyn  should  decide  against  Lumley's  claims,  you  know  that  on  no  ac- 
count would  I  sacrifice  her  happiness ;  that  all  I  require  is,  that  fair 
play  be  given  to  his  pretensions,  due  indulgence  to  the  scheme  T  have 
long  had  at  heart.  Let  her  be  brought  up  to  consider  him  her  future 
husband  ;  let  her  not  be  prejudiced  against  him  ;  let  her  fairly  judge  for 
herself,  when  the  time  arrives," 

"  You  see,  my  lord, "  said  Mr.  Aubrey,  as  he  took  back  the 
letter,  "that  this  letter  bears  the  same  date  as  your  uncle's 
will.     What  he  desired  has  been  done.     Be  just,  my  lord,  be 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  227 

just,  and  exonerate  us  all  from  blame :  who  can  dictate  to  the 
affections?" 

"  And  I  am  to  understand  that  I  have  no  chance,  now  or 
hereafter,  of  obtaining  the  affections  of  Evelyn?  Surely,  at 
your  age,  Mr.  Aubrey,  you  cannot  encourage  the  heated 
romance  common  to  all  girls  of  Evelyn's  age.  Persons  of 
our  rank  do  not  marry  like  the  Cory  don  and  Phyllis  of  a  pas- 
toral. At  my  years,  I  never  was  fool  enough  to  expect  that  I 
should  inspire  a  girl  of  seventeen  with  what  is  called  a  pas- 
sionate attachment.  But  happy  marriages  are  based  upon 
suitable  circumstances,  mutual  knowledge  and  indulgence, 
respect,  esteem.  Come,  sir,  let  me  hope  yet,  —  let  me  hope 
that,  on  the  same  day,  I  may  congratulate  you  on  your  prefer- 
ment and  you  may  congratulate  me  upon  my  marriage." 

Vargrave  said  this  with  a  cheerful  and  easy  smile;  and  the 
tone  of  his  voice  was  that  of  a  man  who  wished  to  convey 
serious  meaning  in  a  jesting  accent. 

Mr.  Aubrey,  meek  as  he  was,  felt  the  insult  of  the  hinted 
bribe,  and  coloured  with  a  resentment  no  sooner  excited  than 
checked.  "Excuse  me,  my  lord,  I  have  now  said  all;  the  rest 
had  better  be  left  to  your  ward  herself." 

*'  Be  it  so,  sir.  I  will  ask  you,  then,  to  convey  my  request 
to  Evelyn  to  honour  me  with  a  last  and  parting  interview. " 

Vargrave  flung  himself  on  his  chair,  and  Aubrey  left  him. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
Thus  fury  Strephon  taned  his  lyre.  —  Shenstone. 

In  his  meeting  with  Evelyn,  Vargrave  certainly  exerted  to 
the  utmost  all  his  ability  and  all  his  art.  He  felt  that  vio- 
lence, that  sarcasm,  that  selfish  complaint  would  not  avail  in 
a  man  who  was  not  loved,  — though  they  are  often  admirable 
cards  in  the  hands  of  a  man  who  is.     As  his  own  heart  was 


228  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

perfectly  untouched  in  the  matter,  except  by  rage  and  disap- 
pointment, —  feelings  which  with  him  never  lasted  very  long, 
—  he  could  play  coolly  his  losing  game.  His  keen  and  ready 
intellect  taught  him  that  all  he  could  now  expect  was  to  be- 
queath sentiments  of  generous  compassion  and  friendly  inter- 
est; to  create  a  favourable  impression,  which  he  might 
hereafter  improve;  to  reserve,  in  short,  some  spot  of  vantage- 
ground  in  the  country  from  which  he  was  to  affect  to  with- 
draw all  his  forces.  He  had  known,  in  his  experience  of 
women,  which,  whether  as  an  actor  or  a  spectator,  was  large 
and  various  —  though  not  among  very  delicate  and  refined 
natures  —  that  a  lady  often  takes  a  fancy  to  a  suitor  after  she 
has  rejected  him;  that  precisely  because  she  has  once  rejected 
she  ultimately  accepts  him.  And  even  this  chance  was,  in 
circumstances  so  desperate,  not  to  be  neglected.  He  assumed, 
therefore,  the  countenance,  the  postures,  and  the  voice  of 
heart-broken  but  submissive  despair ;  he  affected  a  nobleness 
and  magnanimity  in  his  grief,  which  touched  Evelyn  to  the 
quick,  and  took  her  by  surprise. 

"  It  is  enough,"  said  he,  in  sad  and  faltering  accents;  "quite 
enough  for  me  to  know  that  you  cannot  love  me,  —  that  I 
should  fail  in  rendering  you  happy.  Say  no  more,  Evelyn, 
say  no  more !  Let  me  spare  you,  at  least,  the  pain  your  gen- 
erous nature  must  feel  in  my  anguish.  I  resign  all  preten- 
sions to  your  hand ;  you  are  free !  —  may  you  be  happy !  " 

"  Oh,  Lord  Vargrave !  oh,  Lumley !  "  said  Evelyn,  weeping, 
and  moved  by  a  thousand  recollections  of  early  years.  "If  I 
could  but  prove  in  any  other  way  my  grateful  sense  of  your 
merits,  your  too  partial  appreciation  of  me,  my  regard  for  my 
lost  benefactor,  then,  indeed,  nor  till  then,  could  I  be  happy. 
Oh  that  this  wealth,  so  little  desired  by  me,  had  been  more  at 
my  disposal!  but  as  it  is,  the  day  that  sees  me'  in  possession 
of  it,  shall  see  it  placed  under  your  disposition,  your  control. 
This  is  but  justice, — common  justice  to  you;  you  were  the 
nearest  relation  of  the  departed.  1  had  no  claim  on  him,  — 
none  but  affection.     Affection!  and  yet  I  disobey  him!  " 

There  was  much  in  all  this  that  secretly  pleased  Vargrave  j 
but  it  only  seemed  to  redouble  his  grief. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  229 

"Talk  not  thus,  my  ward,  my  friend  —  ah,  still  my  friend," 
said  he,  putting  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  "I  repine  not; 
I  am  more  than  satisfied.  Still  let  me  preserve  my  privilege 
of  guardian,  of  adviser, — a  privilege  dearer  to  me  than  all 
the  wealth  of  the  Indies !  " 

Lord  Vargrave  had  some  faint  suspicion  that  Legard  had 
created  an  undue  interest  in  Evelyn's  heart;  and  on  this  point 
he  delicately  and  indirectly  sought  to  sound  her.  Her  replies 
convinced  him  that  if  Evelyn  had  conceived  any  prepossession 
for  Legard,  there  had  not  been  time  or  opportunity  to  ripen  it 
into  deep  attachment.  Of  Maltravers  he  had  no  fear.  The 
habitual  self-control  of  that  reserved  personage  deceived  him 
partly;  and  his  low  opinion  of  mankind  deceived  him  still 
more.  For  if  there  had  been  any  love  between  Maltravers 
and  Evelyn,  why  should  the  former  not  have  stood  his  ground, 
and  declared  his  suit?  Lumley  would  have  "bah'd"  and 
"pish'd  "  at  the  thought  of  any  punctilious  regard  for  engage- 
ments so  easily  broken  having  power  either  to  check  passion 
for  beauty,  or  to  restrain  self-interest  in  the  chase  of  an 
heiress.  He  had  known  Maltravers  ambitious;  and  with 
him,  ambition  and  self-interest  meant  the  same.  Thus,  by 
the  yerj  finesse  of  his  character  —  while  Vargrave  ever  with 
the  worldly  was  a  keen  and  almost  infallible  observer  —  with 
natures  of  a  more  refined,  or  a  higher  order,  he  always  missed 
the  mark  by  overshooting.  Besides,  had  a  suspicion  of  Mal- 
travers ever  crossed  him,  Caroline's  communications  would 
have  dispelled  it.  It  was  more  strange  that  Caroline  should 
have  been  blind;  nor  would  she  have  been  so  had  she  been 
less  absorbed  in  her  own  schemes  and  destinies.  All  her  usual 
penetration  had  of  late  settled  in  self;  and  an  uneasy  feeling 
—  half  arising  from  conscientious  reluctance  to  aid  Vargrave's 
objects,  half  from  jealous  irritation  at  the  thought  of  Var- 
grave's marrying  another  —  had  prevented  her  from  seeking 
any  very  intimate  or  confidential  communication  with  Evelyn 
herself. 

The  dreaded  conference  was  over;  Evelyn  parted  from  Var- 
grave with  the  very  feelings  he  had  calculated  on  exciting,  — 
the  moment  he  ceased  to  be  her  lover,  her  old  childish  regard 


230  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

for  him  recommenced.  She  pitied  his  dejection,  she  respected 
his  generosity,  she  was  deeply  grateful  for  his  forbearance. 
But  still  —  still  she  was  free-,  and  her  heart  bounded  within 
her  at  the  thought. 

Meanwhile,  Vargrave,  after  his  solemn  farewell  to  Evelyn, 
retreated  again  to  his  own  room,  where  he  remained  till  his 
post-horses  arrived.  Then,  descending  into  the  drawing- 
room,  he  was  pleased  to  find  neither  Aubrey  nor  Evelyn 
there.  He  knew  that  much  affectation  would  be  thrown 
away  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merton;  he  thanked  them  for  their 
hospitality,  with  grave  and  brief  cordiality,  and  then  turned 
to  Caroline,  who  stood  apart  by  the  window. 

"All  is  up  with  me  at  present,"  he  whispered.  "I  leave 
you,  Caroline,  in  anticipation  of  fortune,  rank,  and  prosperity ; 
that  is  some  comfort.  For  myself,  I  see  only  difficulties, 
embarrassment,  and  poverty  in  the  future ;  but  I  despond  of 
nothing.  Hereafter  you  may  serve  me,  as  I  have  served 
you.  Adieu !  —  I  have  been  advising  Caroline  not  to  spoil 
Doltimore,  Mrs.  Merton;  he  is  conceited  enough  already. 
Good-by !  God  bless  you  all !  love  to  your  little  girls.  Let 
me  know  if  I  can  serve  you  in  any  way,  Merton,  —  good-by 
again !  "  And  thus,  sentence  by  sentence,  Vargrave  talked 
himself  into  his  carriage.  As  it  drove  by  the  drawing-room 
windows,  he  saw  Caroline  standing  motionless  where  he  had 
left  her ;  he  kissed  his  hand,  —  her  eyes  were  fixed  mourn- 
fully on  his.  Hard,  wayward,  and  worldly  as  Caroline  Mer- 
ton was,  Vargrave  was  yet  not  worthy  of  the  affection  he  had 
inspired;  for  she  could  feel,  and  he  could  not,  — the  distinc- 
tion, perhaps,  between  the  sexes.  And  there  still  stood  Caro- 
line Merton,  recalling  the  last  tones  of  that  indifferent  voice, 
till  she  felt  her  hand  seized,  and  turned  round  to  see  Lord 
Doltimore,  and  smile  upon  the  happy  lover,  persuaded  that 
he  was  adored! 


BOOK    VI. 


Ilvp  <rol  wpoaolffct,  kov  rh  ahy  trpoaKf^otuu.  —  Ecbipides  :  Andromache,  214. 
"  I  will  bring  fire  to  thee  —  I  reck  not  of  the  place." 


CHAPTER  I. 

.    .    .    This  ancient  city, 

How  wanton  sits  she  amidst  Nature's  smiles ! 

.    .    .    Various  nations  meet, 

As  in  the  sea,  yet  not  confined  in  space. 

But  streaming  freely  through  the  spacious  streets.  —  YouKO. 

.     .    .    His  teeth  he  still  did  grind, 

And  grimly  gnash,  threatening  revenge  in  vain.  —  Spenseb. 

"Paris  is  a  delightful  place,  — that  is  allowed  by  all.  It 
is  delightful  to  the  young,  to  the  gay,  to  the  idle ;  to  the  lit- 
erary lion,  who  likes  to  be  petted;  to  the  wiser  epicure,  who 
indulges  a  more  justifiable  appetite.  It  is  delightful  to  ladies, 
who  wish  to  live  at  their  ease,  and  buy  beautiful  caps;  de- 
lightful to  philanthropists,  who  wish  for  listeners  to  schemes 
of  colonizing  the  moon;  delightful  to  the  haunters  of  balls 
and  ballets,  and  little  theatres  and  superb  caf&s,  where  men 
with  beards  of  all  sizes  and  shapes  scowl  at  the  English,  and 
involve  their  intellects  in  the  fascinating  game  of  dominos. 
For  these,  and  for  many  others,  Paris  is  delightful.  I  say 
nothing  against  it.  But,  for  my  own  part,  I  would  rather 
live  in  a  garret  in  London  than  in  a  palace  in  the  Chaussee 
d'Antin.  —  'Chacun  k  son  mauvais  gout.' 

"  I  don't  like  the  streets,  in  which  I  cannot  walk  but  in  the 
kennel;  I  don't  like  the  shops,  that  contain  nothing  except 


232  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

what's  at  the  window;  I  don't  like  the  houses,  like  prisons 
which  look  upon  a  courtyard;  I  don't  like  the  beaux  jardins, 
which  grow  no  plants  save  a  Cupid  in  plaster;  I  don't  like 
the  wood  fires,  which  demand  as  many  petits  soins  as  the 
women,  and  which  warm  no  part  of  one  but  one's  eyelids,  I 
don't  like  the  language,  with  its  strong  phrases  about  nothing, 
and  vibrating  like  a  pendulum  between  '  rapture '  and  '  deso- 
lation; '  I  don't  like  the  accent,  which  one  cannot  get,  with- 
out speaking  through  one's  nose;  I  don't  like  the  eternal  fuss 
and  jabber  about  books  without  nature,  and  revolutions  with- 
out fruit;  I  have  no  sympathy  with  tales  that  turn  on  a  dead 
jackass,  nor  with  constitutions  that  give  the  ballot  to  the  rep- 
resentatives, and  withhold  the  suffrage  from  the  people; 
neither  have  I  much  faith  in  that  enthusiasm  for  the  beaux 
arts,  which  shows  its  produce  in  execrable  music,  detestable 
pictures,  abominable  sculpture,  and  a  droll  something  that  T 
believe  the  French  call  poetry.  Dancing  and  cookery,  — 
these  are  the  arts  the  French  excel  in,  I  grant  it;  and  excel- 
lent things  they  are;  but  oh,  England!  oh,  Germany!  you 
need  not  be  jealous  of  your  rival !  " 

These  are  not  the  author's  remarks, — he  disowns  them; 
they  were  Mr.  Cleveland's.  He  was  a  prejudiced  man;  Mal- 
travers  was  more  liberal,  but  then  Maltravers  did  not  pretend 
to  be  a  wit. 

Maltravers  had  been  several  weeks  in  the  city  of  cities,  and 
now  he  had  his  apartments  in  the  gloomy  but  interesting  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain,  all  to  himself.  For  Cleveland,  having 
attended  eight  days  at  a  sale,  and  having  moreover  ransacked 
all  the  curiosity  shops,  and  shipped  off  bronzes  and  cabinets, 
and  Genoese  silks  and  objets  de  vertu,  enough  to  have  half 
furnished  Fonthill,  had  fulfilled  his  mission,  and  returned  to 
his  villa.  Before  the  old  gentleman  went,  he  flattered  him- 
self that  change  of  air  and  scene  had  already  been  serviceable 
to  his  friend ;  and  that  time  would  work  a  complete  cure  upon 
that  commonest  of  all  maladies,  —  an  unrequited  passion,  or 
an  ill-placed  caprice. 

Maltravers,  indeed,  in  the  habit  of  conquering,  as  well  as 
of  concealing  emotion,  vigorously  and  earnestly  strove  to  de- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  233 

throne  the  image  that  had  usurped  his  heart.  Still  vain  of 
his  self-command,  and  still  worshipping  his  favourite  virtue 
of  Fortitude  and  his  delusive  philosophy  of  the  calm  Golden 
Mean,  he  would  not  weakly  indulge  the  passion,  while  he  so 
sternly  fled  from  its  object. 

But  yet  the  image  of  Evelyn  pursued,  —  it  haunted  him ;  it 
came  on  him  unawares,  in  solitude,  in  crowds.  That  smile 
so  cheering,  yet  so  soft,  that  ever  had  power  to  chase  away 
the  shadow  from  his  soul;  that  youthful  and  luxurious  bloom 
of  pure  and  eloquent  thoughts,  which  was  as  the  blossom  of 
genius  before  its  fruit,  bitter  as  well  as  sweet,  is  born ;  that 
rare  union  of  quick  feeling  and  serene  temper,  which  forms 
the  very  ideal  of  what  we  dream  of  in  the  mistress,  and  ex- 
act from  the  wife,  —  all,  even  more,  far  more,  than  the  exqui- 
site form  and  the  delicate  graces  of  the  less  durable  beauty, 
returned  to  him,  after  every  struggle  with  himself;  and  time 
only  seemed  to  grave,  in  deeper  if  more  latent  folds  of  his 
heart,  the  ineradicable  impression. 

Maltravers  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  some  persons  not 
unfamiliar  to  the  reader. 

Valerie  de  Ventadour  —  how  many  recollections  of  the  fairer 
days  of  life  were  connected  with  that  name!  Precisely  as  she 
had  never  reached  to  his  love,  but  only  excited  his  fancy  (the 
fancy  of  twenty-two),  had  her  image  always  retained  a  pleas- 
ant and  grateful  hue;  it  was  blended  with  no  deep  sorrow,  no 
stern  regret,  no  dark  remorse,  no  haunting  shame. 

They  met  again.  Madame  de  Ventadour  was  still  beauti- 
ful, and  still  admired,  — perhaps  more  admired  than  ever;  for 
to  the  great,  fashion  and  celebrity  bring  a  second  and  yet  more 
popular  youth.  But  Maltravers,  if  rejoiced  to  see  how  gently 
Time  had  dealt  with  the  fair  Frenchwoman,  was  yet  more 
pleased  to  read  in  her  fine  features  a  more  serene  and  con- 
tented expression  than  they  had  formerly  worn.  Valerie  de 
Ventadour  had  preceded  her  younger  admirer  through  the 
"  MYSTERIES  OP  LIFE ; "  shc  had  learned  the  real  objects  of 
being;  she  distinguished  between  the  Actual  and  the  Vision- 
ary, the  Shadow  and  the  Substance;  she  had  acquired  content 
for  the  present,  and  looked  with  quiet  hope  towards  the  future. 


234  ALICE  J   OR,  THE   MYSTERIES. 

Her  character  was  still  spotless;  or  rather,  every  year  of  temp- 
tation and  trial  had  given  it  a  fairer  lustre.  Love,  that  might 
have  ruined,  being  once  subdued,  preserved  her  from  all  after 
danger.  The  first  meeting  between  Maltravers  and  Valerie 
was,  it  is  true,  one  of  some  embarrassment  and  reserve:  not 
so  the  second.  They  did  but  once,  and  that  slightly,  recur  to 
the  past,  and  from  that  moment,  as  by  a  tacit  understanding, 
true  friendship  between  them  dated.  Neither  felt  mortified 
to  see  that  an  illusion  had  passed  away,  —  they  were  no  longer 
the  same  in  each  other's  eyes.  Both  might  be  improved,  and 
were  so;  but  the  Valerie  and  the  Ernest  of  Naples  were  as 
things  dead  and  gone!  Perhaps  Valerie's  heart  was  even  more 
reconciled  to  the  cure  of  its  soft  and  luxurious  malady  by  the 
renewal  of  their  acquaintance.  The  mature  and  experienced 
reasoner,  in  whom  enthusiasm  had  undergone  its  usual  change, 
with  the  calm  brow  and  commanding  aspect  of  sober  manhood, 
was  a  being  so  different  from  the  romantic  boy,  new  to  the 
actual  world  of  civilized  toils  and  pleasures,  fresh  from  the 
adventures  of  Eastern  wanderings,  and  full  of  golden  dreams 
of  poetry  before  it  settles  into  authorship  or  action!  She 
missed  the  brilliant  errors,  the  daring  aspirations,  —  even  the 
animated  gestures  and  eager  eloquence,  —  that  had  interested 
and  enamoured  her  in  the  loiterer  by  the  shores  of  Baiae,  or 
amidst  the  tomb-like  chambers  of  Pompeii.  For  the  Mal- 
travers now  before  her  —  wiser,  better,  nobler,  even  handsomer 
than  of  yore  (for  he  was  one  whom  manhood  became  better 
than  youth)  —  the  Frenchwoman  could  at  any  period  have  felt 
friendship  without  danger.  It  seemed  to  her,  not  as  it  really 
was,  the  natural  development,  but  the  very  contrast,  of  the 
ardent,  variable,  imaginative  boy,  by  whose  side  she  had 
gazed  at  night  on  the  moonlit  waters  and  rosy  skies  of  the 
soft  Parthenope!  How  does  time,  after  long  absence,  bring 
to  us  such  contrasts  between  the  one  we  remember  and  the 
one  we  see !  And  what  a  melancholy  mockery  does  it  seem  of 
our  own  vain  hearts,  dreaming  of  impressions  never  to  be 
changed,  and  affections  that  never  can  grow  cool ! 

And  now,  as  they  conversed  with  all  the  ease  of  cordial  and 
guileless  friendship,  how  did  Valerie  rejoice  in  secret  that 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  286 

upon  that  friendship  there  rested  no  blot  of  shame!  and  that 
she  had  not  forfeited  those  consolations  for  a  home  without 
love,  which  had  at  last  settled  into  cheerful  nor  unhallowed 
resignation,  —  consolations  only  to  be  found  in  the  conscience 
and  the  pride ! 

M.  de  Ventadour  had  not  altered,  except  that  his  nose  was 
longer,  and  that  he  now  wore  a  peruque  in  full  curl  instead  of 
his  own  straight  hair.  But  somehow  or  other  —  perhaps  by 
the  mere  charm  of  custom  —  he  had  grown  more  pleasing  in 
Valerie's  eyes;  habit  had  reconciled  her  to  his  foibles,  defi- 
ciencies, and  faults ;  and,  by  comparison  with  others,  she  could 
better  appreciate  his  good  qualities,  such  as  they  were,  —  gen- 
erosity, good-temper,  good-nature,  and  unbounded  indulgence 
to  herself.  Husband  and  wife  have  so  many  interests  in  com- 
mon, that  when  they  have  jogged  on  through  the  ups  and 
downs  of  life  a  sufl&cient  time,  the  leash  which  at  first  galled 
often  grows  easy  and  familiar;  and  unless  the  temper,  or  rather 
the  disposition  and  the  heart,  of  either  be  insufferable,  what 
was  once  a  grievous  yoke  becomes  but  a  companionable  tie. 
And  for  the  rest,  Valerie,  now  that  sentiment  and  fancy  were 
sobered  down,  could  take  pleasure  in  a  thousand  things  which 
her  pining  affections  once,  as  it  were,  overlooked  and  over- 
shot. She  could  feel  grateful  for  all  the  advantages  her  sta- 
tion and  wealth  procured  her;  she  could  cull  the  roses  in  her 
reach,  without  sighing  for  the  amaranths  of  Elysium. 

If  the  great  have  more  temptations  than  those  of  middle 
life,  and  if  their  senses  of  enjoyment  become  more  easily 
pampered  into  a  sickly  apathy,  so  at  least  (if  they  can  once 
outlive  satiety)  they  ha.ve  many  more  resources  at  their  com- 
mand. There  is  a  great  deal  of  justice  in  the  old  line,  dis- 
pleasing though  it  be  to  those  who  think  of  love  in  a  cottage, 
"'Tis  best  repenting  in  a  coach  and  six!"  If  among  the 
Eupatrids,  the  Well  Born,  there  is  less  love  in  wedlock,  less 
quiet  happiness  at  home,  still  they  are  less  chained  each  to 
each,  —  they  have  more  independence,  both  the  woman  and 
the  man,  and  occupations  and  the  solace  without  can  be  so 
easily  obtained!  Madame  de  Ventadour,  in  retiring  from  the 
mere  frivolities  of  society  —  from  crowded  rooms,  and  the 


236  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

inane  talk  and  hollow  smiles  of  mere  acquaintanceship  —  be- 
came more  sensible  of  the  pleasures  that  her  refined  and  ele- 
gant intellect  could  derive  from  art  and  talent,  and  the 
communion  of  friendship.  She  drew  around  her  the  most 
cultivated  minds  of  her  time  and  country.  Her  abilities,  her 
wit,  and  her  conversational  graces  enabled  her  not  only  to 
mix  on  equal  terms  with  the  most  eminent,  but  to  amalgamate 
and  blend  the  varieties  of  talent  into  harmony.  The  same 
persons,  when  met  elsewhere,  seemed  to  have  lost  their  charm  j 
under  Valerie's  roof  every  one  breathed  a  congenial  atmos- 
phere. And  music  and  letters,  and  all  that  can  refine  and 
embellish  civilized  life,  contributed  their  resources  to  this 
gifted  and  beautiful  woman.  And  thus  she  found  that  the 
mind  has  excitement  and  occupation,  as  well  as  the  heart; 
and,  unlike  the  latter,  the  culture  we  bestow  upon  the  first 
ever  yields  us  its  return.  We  talk  of  education  for  the  poor, 
but  we  forget  how  much  it  is  needed  by  the  rich.  Valerie  was 
a  living  instance  of  the  advantages  to  women  of  knowledge 
and  intellectual  resources.  By  them  she  had  purified  her 
fancy,  by  them  she  had  conquered  discontent,  by  them  she 
had  grown  reconciled  to  life  and  to  her  lot!  When  the  heavy 
heart  weighed  down  the  one  scale,  it  was  the  mind  that  re- 
stored the  balance. 

The  spells  of  Madame  de  Ventadour  drew  Maltravers  into 
this  charmed  circle  of  all  that  was  highest,  purest,  and  most 
gifted  in  the  society  of  Paris.  There  he  did  not  meet,  as 
were  met  in  the  times  of  the  old  Hgime,  sparkling  abb^s 
intent  upon  intrigues ;  or  amorous  old  dowagers,  eloquent  on 
Rousseau;  or  powdered  courtiers,  uttering  epigrams  against 
kings  and  religions, — straws  that  foretold  the  whirlwind. 
Paul  Courier  was  right!  Frenchmen  are  Frenchmen  still; 
they  are  full  of  fine  phrases,  and  their  thoughts  smell  of  the 
theatre;  they  mistake  foil  for  diamonds,  the  Grotesque  for 
the  Natural,  the  Exaggerated  for  the  Sublime:  but  still  I 
say,  Paul  Courier  was  right,  —  there  is  more  honesty  now  in 
a  single  salon  in  Paris  than  there  was  in  all  France  in  the 
days  of  Voltaire.  Vast  interests  and  solemn  causes  are  no 
longer  tossed  about  like  shuttlecocks  on  the  battledores  of 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  237 

empty  tongues.      In  the  bouleversement  of  Revolutions  the 
French  have  fallen  on  their  feet ! 

Meeting  men  of  all  parties  and  all  classes,  Maltravers  was 
struck  with  the  heightened  tone  of  public  morals,  the  earnest 
sincerity  of  feeling  which  generally  pervaded  all,  as  compared 
with  his  first  recollections  of  the  Parisians.  He  saw  that 
true  elements  for  national  wisdom  were  at  work,  though  he 
saw  also  that  there  was  no  country  in  which  their  operations 
would  be  more  liable  to  disorder,  more  slow  and  irregular  in 
their  results.  The  French  are  like  the  Israelites  in  the  Wil- 
derness, when,  according  to  a  Hebrew  tradition,  every  morning 
they  seemed  on  the  verge  of  Pisgah,  and  every  evening  they 
were  as  far  from  it  as  ever.  But  still  time  rolls  on,  the  pil- 
grimage draws  to  its  close,  and  the  Canaan  must  come  at  last ! 

At  Valerie's  house,  Maltravers  once  more  met  the  De  Mon- 
taignes.  It  was  a  painful  meeting,  for  they  thought  of 
Cesarini  when  they  met. 

It  is  now  time  to  return  to  that  unhappy  man.  Cesarini 
had  been  removed  from  England  when  Maltravers  quitted  it 
after  Lady  Florence's  death;  and  Maltravers  had  thought  it 
best  to  acquaint  De  Montaigne  with  all  the  circumstances 
that  had  led  to  his  affliction.  The  pride  and  the  honour  of 
the  high-spirited  Frenchman  were  deeply  shocked  by  the  tale 
of  fraud  and  guilt,  softened  as  it  was;  but  the  sight  of  the 
criminal,  his  awful  punishment,  merged  every  other  feeling 
in  compassion.  Placed  under  the  care  of  the  most  skilful 
practitioners  in  Paris,  great  hopes  of  Cesarini's  recovery  had 
been  at  first  entertained.  Nor  was  it  long,  indeed,  before  he 
appeared  entirely  restored,  so  far  as  the  external  and  superfi- 
cial tokens  of  sanity  could  indicate  a  cure.  He  testified  com- 
plete consciousness  of  the  kindness  of  his  relations,  and  clear 
remembrance  of  the  past:  but  to  the  incoherent  ravings  of 
delirium,  an  intense  melancholy,  still  more  deplorable,  suc- 
ceeded. In  this  state,  however,  he  became  once  more  the 
inmate  of  his  brother-in-law's  house;  and  though  avoiding  all 
society,  except  that  of  Teresa,  whose  affectionate  nature  never 
wearied  of  its  cares,  he  resumed  many  of  his  old  occupations. 
Again  he  appeared  to  take  delight  in  desultory  and  unprofit- 


288  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

able  studies,  and  in  the  cultivation  of  that  luxury  of  solitary 
men,  "the  thankless  muse."  By  shunning  all  topics  con- 
nected with  the  gloomy  cause  of  his  affliction,  and  talking 
rather  of  the  sweet  recollections  of  Italy  and  childhood  than 
of  more  recent  events,  his  sister  was  enabled  to  soothe  the 
dark  hour,  and  preserve  some  kind  of  influence  over  the  ill- 
fated  man.  One  day,  however,  there  fell  into  his  hands  an 
English  newspaper,  which  was  full  of  the  praises  of  Lord 
Vargrave;  and  the  article  in  lauding  the  peer  referred  to  his 
services  as  the  commoner  Lumley  Ferrers. 

This  incident,  slight  as  it  appeared,  and  perfectly  untrace- 
able by  his  relations,  produced  a  visible  effect  on  Cesarini; 
and  three  days  afterwards  he  attempted  his  own  life.  The 
failure  of  the  attempt  was  followed  by  the  fiercest  paroxysms. 
His  disease  returned  in  all  its  dread  force:  and  it  became 
necessary  to  place  him  under  yet  stricter  confinement  than  he 
had  endured  before.  Again,  about  a  year  from  the  date  now 
entered  upon,  he  had  appeared  to  recover;  and  again  he  was 
removed  to  De  Montaigne's  house.  His  relations  were  not 
aware  of  the  influence  which  Lord  Vargrave's  name  exercised 
over  Cesarini;  in  the  melancholy  tale  communicated  to  them 
by  Maltravers,  that  name  had  not  been  mentioned.  If  Mal- 
travers  had  at  one  time  entertained  some  vague  suspicions  that 
Lumley  had  acted  a  treacherous  part  with  regard  to  Florence, 
those  suspicions  had  long  since  died  away  for  want  of  con- 
firmation; nor  did  he  (nor  did  therefore  the  De  Montaignes) 
connect  Lord  Vargrave  with  the  affliction  of  Cesarini.  De 
Montaigne  himself,  therefore,  one  day  at  dinner,  alluding  to 
a  question  of  foreign  politics  which  had  been  debated  that 
morning  in  the  Chamber,  and  in  which  he  himself  had  taken 
an  active  part,  happened  to  refer  to  a  speech  of  Vargrave  upon 
the  subject,  which  had  made  some  sensation  abroad,  as  well  as 
at  home.  Teresa  asked  innocently  who  Lord  Vargrave  was ; 
and  De  Montaigne,  well  acquainted  with  the  biography  of 
the  principal  English  statesmen,  replied  that  he  had  com- 
menced his  career  as  Mr.  Ferrers,  and  reminded  Teresa  that 
they  had  once  been  introduced  to  him  in  Paris.  Cesarini  sud- 
denly rose  and  left  the  room;  his  absence  was  not  noted,  for 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  289 

his  coinings  and  goings  were  ever  strange  and  fitful.  Teresa 
soon  afterwards  quitted  the  apartment  with  her  children,  and 
De  Montaigne,  who  was  rather  fatigued  by  the  exertions  and 
excitement  of  the  morning,  stretched  himself  in  his  chair  to 
enjoy  a  short  siesta.  He  was  suddenly  awakened  by  a  feel- 
ing of  pain  and  suffocation,  —  awakened  in  time  to  struggle 
against  a  strong  gripe  that  had  fastened  itself  at  his  throat. 
The  room  was  darkened  in  the  growing  shades  of  the  evening; 
and,  but  for  the  glittering  and  savage  eyes  that  were  fixed  on 
him,  he  could  scarcely  discern  his  assailant.  He  at  length 
succeeded,  however,  in  freeing  himself,  and  casting  the  in- 
tended assassin  on  the  ground.  He  shouted  for  assistance; 
and  the  lights  borne  by  the  servants  who  rushed  into  the  room 
revealed  to  him  the  face  of  his  brother-in-law.  Cesarini, 
though  in  strong  convulsions,  still  uttered  cries  and  impreca- 
tions of  revenge ;  he  denounced  De  Montaigne  as  a  traitor  and 
a  murderer!  In  the  dark  confusion  of  his  mind,  he  had  mis- 
taken the  guardian  for  the  distant  foe,  whose  name  sufficed  to 
conjure  up  the  phantoms  of  the  dead,  and  plunge  reason  into 
fury. 

It  was  now  clear  that  there  was  danger  and  death  in  Cesar- 
ini's  disease.  His  madness  was  pronounced  to  be  capable  of 
no  certain  and  permanent  cure;  he  was  placed  at  a  new  asy- 
lum (the  superintendents  of  which  were  celebrated  for  human- 
ity as  well  as  skill),  a  little  distance  from  Versailles,  and 
there  he  still  remained.  Recently  his  lucid  intervals  had 
become  more  frequent  and  prolonged ;  but  trifles  that  sprang 
from  his  own  mind,  and  which  no  care  could  prevent  or  de- 
tect, sufficed  to  renew  his  calamity  in  all  its  fierceness.  At 
such  times  he  required  the  most  unrelaxing  vigilance,  for  his 
madness  ever  took  an  alarming  and  ferocious  character;  and 
had  he  been  left  unshackled,  the  boldest  and  stoutest  of  the 
keepers  would  have  dreaded  to  enter  his  cell  unarmed,  or 
alone. 

What  made  the  disease  of  the  mind  appear  more  melancholy 
and  confirmed  was,  that  all  this  time  the  frame  seemed  to 
increase  in  health  and  strength.  This  is  not  an  uncommon 
case  in  instances  of  mania  —  and  it  is  generally  the  worst 


240  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

symptom.  In  earlier  youth,  Cesarini  had  been  delicate  even 
to  effeminacy;  but  now  his  proportions  were  enlarged,  his 
form,  though  still  lean  and  spare,  muscular  and  vigorous,  — 
as  if  in  the  torpor  which  usually  succeeded  to  his  bursts  of 
frenzy,  the  animal  portion  gained  by  the  repose  or  disorgani- 
zation of  the  intellectual.  When  in  his  better  and  calmer 
mood  —  in  which  indeed  none  but  the  experienced  could  have 
detected  his  malady  —  books  made  his  chief  delight.  But 
then  he  complained  bitterly,  if  briefly,  of  the  confinement  he 
endured,  of  the  injustice  be  suffered;  and  as,  shunning  all 
companions,  he  walked  gloomily  amidst  the  grounds  that  sur- 
rounded that  House  of  Woe,  his  unseen  guardians  beheld  him 
clenching  his  hands,  as  at  some  visionary  enemy,  or  overheard 
him  accuse  some  phantom  of  his  brain  of  the  torments  he 
endured. 

Though  the  reader  can  detect  in  Lumley  Ferrers  the  cause 
of  the  frenzy,  and  the  object  of  the  imprecation,  it  was  not  so 
with  the  De  Montaignes,  nor  with  the  patient's  keepers  and 
physicians ;  for  in  his  delirium  he  seldom  or  never  gave  name 
to  the  shadows  that  he  invoked,  —  not  even  to  that  of  Flor- 
ence. It  is,  indeed,  no  unusual  characteristic  of  madness  to 
shun,  as  by  a  kind  of  cunning,  all  mention  of  the  names  of 
those  by  whom  the  madness  has  been  caused.  It  is  as  if  the 
unfortunates  imagined  that  the  madness  might  be  undiscov- 
ered if  the  images  connected  with  it  were  unbetrayed. 

Such,  at  this  time,  was  the  wretched  state  of  the  man, 
whose  talents  had  promised  a  fair  and  honourable  career, 
had  it  not  been  the  wretched  tendency  of  his  mind,  from  boy- 
hood upward,  to  pamper  every  unwholesome  and  unhallowed 
feeling  as  a  token  of  the  exuberance  of  genius.  De  Mon- 
taigne, though  he  touched  as  lightly  as  possible  upon  this 
dark  domestic  calamity  in  his  first  communications  with  Mal- 
travers,  whose  conduct  in  that  melancholy  tale  of  crime  and 
woe  had,  he  conceived,  been  stamped  with  generosity  and 
feeling,  still  betrayed  emotions  that  told  how  much  his  peace 
had  been  embittered. 

*'  I  seek  to  console  Teresa, "  said  he,  turning  away  his  manly 
head,  "and  to  point  out  all  the  blessings  yet  left  to  herj  but 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  241 

that  brother  so  beloved,  from  whom  so  much  was  so  vainly- 
expected,  —  still  ever  and  ever,  though  she  strives  to  conceal 
it  from  me,  this  affliction  comes  back  to  her,  and  poisons 
every  thought!  Oh,  better  a  thousand  times  that  he  had 
died!  When  reason,  sense,  almost  the  soul,  are  dead,  how 
dark  and  fiend-like  is  the  life  that  remains  behind!  And  if 
it  should  be  in  the  blood  —  if  Teresa's  children  —  dreadful 
thought!" 

De  Montaigne  ceased,  thoroughly  overcome. 

"  Do  not,  my  dear  friend,  so  fearfully  exaggerate  your  mis- 
fortune, great  as  it  is ;  Cesarini's  disease  evidently  arose  from 
no  physical  conformation,  —  it  was  but  the  crisis,  the  develop- 
ment, of  a  long-contracted  malady  of  mind,  passions  morbidly 
indulged,  the  reasoning  faculty  obstinately  neglected ;  and  yet 
too  he  may  recover.  The  further  memory  recedes  from  the 
shock  he  has  sustained,  the  better  the  chance  that  his  mind 
will  regain  its  tone." 

De  Montaigne  wrung  his  friend's  hand. 

"It  is  strange  that  from  you  should  come  sympathy  and 
comfort !  —  you  whom  he  so  injured ;  you  whom  his  folly  or 
his  crime  drove  from  your  proud  career,  and  your  native  soil ! 
But  Providence  will  yet,  I  trust,  redeem  the  evil  of  its  erring 
creature,  and  I  shall  yet  live  to  see  you  restored  to  hope  and 
home,  a  happy  husband,  an  honoured  citizen.  Till  then,  I 
feel  as  if  the  curse  lingered  upon  my  race." 

"  Speak  not  thus.  Whatever  my  destiny,  I  have  recovered 
from  that  wound;  and  still,  De  Montaigne,  I  find  in  life  that 
suffering  succeeds  to  suffering,  and  disappointment  to  disap- 
pointment, as  wave  to  wave.  To  endure  is  the  only  philoso- 
phy; to  believe  that  we  shall  live  again  in  a  brighter  planet, 
is  the  only  hope  that  our  reason  should  accept  from  our 
desires." 

16 


242  ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MoNSTRA  evenemnt  mihi : 
Introit  in  aedes  ater  alienus  canis, 
Anguis  per  impluvium  decidit  de  tegulis, 
Gallina  cecinit  1  ^  —  Terence. 

With  his  constitutional  strength  of  mind,  and  conformably 
with  his  acquired  theories,  Maltravers  continued  to  struggle 
against  the  latest  and  strongest  passion  of  his  life.  It  might 
be  seen  in  the  paleness  of  his  brow,  and  that  nameless  expres- 
sion of  suffering  which  betrays  itself  in  the  lines  about  the 
mouth,  that  his  health  was  affected  by  the  conflict  within 
him;  and  many  a  sudden  fit  of  absence  and  abstraction,  many 
an  impatient  sigh,  followed  by  a  forced  and  unnatural  gayety, 
told  the  observant  Valerie  that  he  was  the  prey  of  a  sorrow 
he  was  too  proud  to  disclose.  He  compelled  himself,  how- 
ever, to  take,  or  to  affect,  an  interest  in  the  singular  phe- 
nomena of  the  social  state  around  him,  —  phenomena  that,  in 
a  happier  or  serener  mood,  would  indeed  have  suggested  no 
ordinary  food  for  conjecture  and  meditation. 

The  state  of  visible  transition  is  the  state  of  nearly  all  the 
enlightened  communities  in  Europe.  But  nowhere  is  it  so 
pronounced  as  in  that  country  which  may  be  called  the  Heart 
of  European  Civilization.  There,  all  to  which  the  spirit  of 
society  attaches  itself  appears  broken,  vague,  and  half  devel- 
oped, —  the  Antique  in  ruins,  and  the  New  not  formed.  It 
is,  perhaps,  the  only  country  in  which  the  Constructive  prin- 
ciple has  not  kept  pace  with  the  Destructive.  The  Has  Been 
is  blotted  out ;  the  To  Be  is  as  the  shadow  of  a  far  land  in  a 
mighty  and  perturbed  sea." 

^  "  Prodigies  have  occurred  a  strange  black  dog  came  into  the  house  ;  a 
snake  glided  from  the  tiles,  through  the  court;  the  hen  crowed." 

2  The  reader  will  remember  that  these  remarks  were  written  long  before 
the  last  French  Revolution,  and  when  the  dynasty  of  Louis  Philippe  was  gen- 
erally considered  most  secure. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  243 

Maltravers,  who  for  several  years  had  not  examined  the 
progress  of  modern  literature,  looked  with  mingled  feelings 
of  surprise,  distaste,  and  occasional  and  most  reluctant  admi- 
ration, on  the  various  works  which  the  successors  of  Voltaire 
and  Rousseau  have  produced,  and  are  pleased  to  call  the  off- 
spring of  Truth  united  to  Romance. 

Profoundly  versed  in  the  mechanism  and  elements  of  those 
masterpieces  of  Germany  and  England,  from  which  the  French 
have  borrowed  so  largely  while  pretending  to  be  original,  Mal- 
travers was  shocked  to  see  the  monsters  which  these  Franken- 
steins  had  created  from  the  relics  and  the  offal  of  the  holiest 
sepulchres.  The  head  of  a  giant  on  the  limbs  of  a  dwarf, 
incongruous  members  jumbled  together,  parts  fair  and  beau- 
tiful, —  the  whole  a  hideous  distortion ! 

"It  may  be  possible,"  said  he  to  De  Montaigne,  "that  these 
works  are  admired  and  extolled;  but  how  they  can  be  vindi- 
cated by  the  examples  of  Shakspeare  and  Goethe,  or  even  of 
Byron,  who  redeemed  poor  and  melodramatic  conceptions  with 
a  manly  vigour  of  execution,  an  energy  and  completeness  of 
purpose,  that  Dryden  himself  never  surpassed,  is  to  me  utterly 
inconceivable." 

"I  allow  that  there  is  a  strange  mixture  of  fustian  and 
maudlin  in  all  these  things,"  answered  De  Montaigne;  "but 
they  are  but  the  windfalls  of  trees  that  may  bear  rich  fruit 
in  due  season;  meanwhile,  any  new  school  is  better  than  eter- 
nal imitations  of  the  old.  As  for  critical  vindications  of  the 
works  themselves,  the  age  that  produces  the  phenomena  is 
never  the  age  to  classify  and  analyze  them.  We  have  had  a 
deluge,  and  now  new  creatures  spring  from  the  new  soil." 

"  An  excellent  simile :  they  come  forth  from  slime  and  mud, 
—  fetid  and  crawling,  unformed  and  monstrous.  I  grant  ex- 
ceptions; and  even  in  the  New  School,  as  it  is  called,  I  can 
admire  the  real  genius,  the  vital  and  creative  power  of  Victor 
Hugo.     But  oh,  that  a  nation  which  has  known  a  Corneille 

should  ever  spawn  forth  a !     And  with  these  rickety  and 

drivelling  abortions  —  all  having  followers  and  adulators  — 
your  Public  can  still  bear  to  be  told  that  they  have  improved 
wonderfully  on  the  day  when  they  gave  laws  and  models  to 


244  ALICE  ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

the  literature  of  Europe;  they  can  bear  to  hear  pro- 
claimed a  sublime  genius  in  the  same  circles  which  sneer 
down  Voltaire ! " 

Voltaire  is  out  of  fashion  in  France,  but  Rousseau  still 
maintains  his  influence,  and  boasts  his  imitators.  Kousseau 
was  the  worse  man  of  the  two;  perhaps  he  was  also  the  more 
dangerous  writer.  But  hi§  reputation  is  more  durable,  and 
sinks  deeper  into  the  heart  of  his  nation ;  and  the  danger  of 
his  unstable  and  capricious  doctrines  has  passed  away.  In 
Voltaire  we  behold  the  fate  of  all  writers  purely  destructive; 
their  uses  cease  with  the  evils  they  denounce.  But  Eousseau 
sought  to  construct  as  well  as  to  destroy ;  and  though  nothing 
could  well  be  more  absurd  than  his  constructions,  still  man 
loves  to  look  back  and  see  even  delusive  images  —  castles  hi 
the  air  —  reared  above  the  waste  where  cities  have  been. 
Rather  than  leave  even  a  burial-ground  to  solitude,  we  popu- 
late it  with  ghosts. 

By  degrees,  however,  as  he  mastered  all  the  features  of  the 
French  literature,  Maltravers  become  more  tolerant  of  the 
present  defects,  and  more  hopeful  of  the  future  results.  He 
saw  in  one  respect  that  that  literature  carried  with  it  its  own 
ultimate  redemption. 

Its  general  characteristic  —  contradistinguished  from  the 
literature  of  the  old  French  classic  school  —  is  to  take  the 
heart  for  its  study;  to  bring  the  passions  and  feelings  into 
action,  and  let  the  Within  have  its  record  and  history  as  well 
as  the  Without.  In  all  this  our  contemplative  analyst  began 
to  allow  that  the  French  were  not  far  wrong  when  they  eon- 
tended  that  Shakspeare  made  the  fountain  of  their  inspira- 
tion,—  a  fountain  which  the  majority  of  our  later  English 
Fictionists  have  neglected.  It  is  not  by  a  story  woven  of 
interesting  incidents,  relieved  by  delineations  of  the  exter- 
nals and  surface  of  character,  humorous  phraseology,  and 
every-day  ethics,  that  Fiction  achieves  its  grandest  ends. 

In  the  French  literature,  thus  characterized,  there  is  much 
false  morality,  much  depraved  sentiment,  and  much  hollow 
rant;  but  still  it  carries  within  it  the  germ  of  an  excellence, 
which,  sooner  or  later,  must  in  the  progress  of  national  genius 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  246 

arrive  at  its  full  development.  Meanwhile,  it  is  a  consola- 
tion to  know  that  nothing  really  immoral  is  ever  permanently 
popular,  or  ever,  therefore,  long  deleterious;  what  is  danger- 
ous in  a  work  of  genius  cures  itself  in  a  few  years.  We  can 
now  read  "  Werther,"  and  instruct  our  hearts  by  its  exposition 
of  weakness  and  passion,  our  taste  by  its  exquisite  and  unri- 
valled simplicity  of  construction  and  detail,  without  any  fear 
that  we  shall  shoot  ourselves  in  top-boots !  We  can  feel  our- 
selves elevated  by  the  noble  sentiments  of  "The  Bobbers,"  and 
our  penetration  sharpened  as  to  the  wholesale  immorality  of 
conventional  cant  and  hypocrisy,  without  any  danger  of  turn- 
ing banditti  and  becoming  cutthroats  from  the  love  of  virtue. 
Providence,  that  has  made  the  genius  of  the  few  in  all  times 
and  countries  the  guide  and  prophet  of  the  many,  and  appointed 
Literature  as  the  sublime  agent  of  Civilization,  of  Opinion,  and 
of  Law,  has  endowed  the  elements  it  employs  with  a  divine 
power  of  self-purification.  The  stream  settles  of  itself  by 
rest  and  time;  the  impure  particles  fly  off,  or  are  neutralized 
by  the  healthful.  It  is  only  fools  that  call  the  works  of  a 
master-spirit  immoral.  There  does  not  exist  in  the  literature 
of  the  world  one  popular  book  that  is  immoral  two  centuries 
after  it  is  produced.  For,  in  the  heart  of  nations,  the  False 
does  not  live  so  long;  and  the  True  is  the  Ethical  to  the  end 
of  time. 

From  the  literary  Maltravers  turned  to  the  political  state 
of  France  his  curious  and  thoughtful  eye.  He  was  struck  by 
the  resemblance  which  this  nation  —  so  civilized,  so  thor- 
oughly European  —  bears  in  one  respect  to  the  despotisms  of 
the  East:  the  convulsions  of  the  capital  decide  the  fate  of  the 
country;  Paris  is  the  tyrant  of  France.  He  saw  in  this  in- 
flammable concentration  of  power,  which  must  ever  be  preg- 
nant with  great  evils,  one  of  the  causes  why  the  revolutions  of 
that  powerful  and  polished  people  are  so  incomplete  and  un- 
satisfactory, why,  like  Cardinal  Fleury,  system  after  system, 
and  Government  after  Government  — 

.     .     .     "  floruit  sine  frnctu, 
Defloruit  sine  luctu."  ^ 

1  "  Flourished  without  fruit,  and  was  destroyed  without  regret." 


246  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Maltravers  regarded  it  as  a  singular  instance  of  perverse 
ratiocination,  that,  unwarned  by  experience,  the  French  should 
still  persist  in  perpetuating  this  political  vice;  that  all  their 
policy  should  still  be  the  policy  of  Centralization,  — a  princi- 
ple which  secures  the  momentary  strength,  but  ever  ends  in 
the  abrupt  destruction  of  States.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  perilous 
tonic,  which  seems  to  brace  the  system,  but  drives  the  blood 
to  the  head,  —  thus  come  apoplexy  and  madness.  By  central- 
ization the  provinces  are  weakened,  it  is  true,  —  but  weak  to 
assist  as  well  as  to  oppose  a  government,  weak  to  withstand 
a  mob.  Nowhere,  nowadays,  is  a  mob  so  powerful  as  in 
Paris :  the  political  history  of  Paris  is  the  history  of  mobs. 
Centralization  is  an  excellent  quackery  for  a  despot  who 
desires  power  to  last  only  his  own  life,  and  who  has  but  a 
life-interest  in  the  State;  but  to  true  liberty  and  permanent 
order  centralization  is  a  deadly  poison.  The  more  the  prov- 
inces govern  their  own  affairs,  the  more  we  find  everything, 
even  to  roads  and  post-horses,  are  left  to  the  people;  the 
more  the  Municipal  Spirit  pervades  every  vein  of  the  vast 
body,  the  more  certain  may  we  be  that  reform  and  change 
must  come  from  universal  opinion,  which  is  slow,  and  con- 
structs ere  it  destroys,  —  not  from  public  clamour,  which  is 
sudden,  and  not  only  pulls  down  the  edifice  but  sells  the 
bricks ! 

Another  peculiarity  in  the  French  Constitution  struck  and 
perplexed  Maltravers.  This  people  so  pervaded  by  the  repub- 
lican sentiment ;  this  people,  who  had  sacrificed  so  much  for 
Freedom ;  this  people,  who,  in  the  name  of  Freedom,  had  per- 
petrated so  much  crime  with  Robespierre,  and  achieved  so 
much  glory  with  Napoleon, — this  people  were,  as  a  people, 
contented  to  be  utterly  excluded  from  all  power  and  voice  in 
the  State!  Out  of  thirt}^ -three  millions  of  subjects,  less  than 
two  hundred  thousand  electors!  Where  was  there  ever  an 
oligarchy  equal  to  this?  What  a  strange  infatuation,  to 
demolish  an  aristocracy  and  yet  to  exclude  a  people  I  What 
an  anomaly  in  political  architecture,  to  build  an  inverted 
pyramid!  Where  was  the  safety-valve  of  governments,  where 
the  natural  vents  of  excitement  in  a  population  so  inflamma- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  247 

ble?  The  people  itself  were  left  a  mob, — no  stake  in  the 
State,  no  action  in  its  affairs,  no  legislative  interest  in  its 
security.^ 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  singular  to  see  how  —  the  aris- 
tocracy of  birth  broken  down  —  the  aristocracy  of  letters  had 
arisen.  A  Peerage,  half  composed  of  journalists,  philoso- 
phers, and  authors!  This  was  the  beau-ideal  of  Algernon 
Sidney's  Aristocratic  Republic,  of  the  Helvetian  vision  of 
what  ought  to  be  the  dispensation  of  public  distinctions;  yet 
was  it,  after  all,  a  desirable  aristocracy?  Did  society  gain; 
did  literature  lose?  Was  the  priesthood  of  Genius  made  more 
sacred  and  more  pure  by  these  worldly  decorations  and  hollow 
titles ;  or  was  aristocracy  itself  thus  rendered  a  more  disinter- 
ested, a  more  powerful,  or  a  more  sagacious  element  in  the 
administration  of  law,  or  the  elevation  of  opinion?  These 
questions,  not  lightly  to  be  answered,  could  not  fail  to  arouse 
the  speculation  and  curiosity  of  a  man  who  had  been  familiar 
with  the  closet  and  the  forum;  and  in  proportion  as  he  found 
his  interest  excited  in  these  problems  to  be  solved  by  a  for- 
eign nation,  did  the  thoughtful  Englishman  feel  the  old 
instinct  —  which  binds  the  citizen  to  the  fatherland  —  begin 
to  stir  once  more  earnestly  and  vividly  within  him. 

"You,  yourself  individually,  are  passing  like  us,"  said  De 
Montaigne  one  day  to  Maltravers,  "  through  a  state  of  transi- 
tion. You  have  forever  left  the  Ideal,  and  you  are  carrying 
your  cargo  of  experience  over  to  the  Practical.  When  you 
reach  that  haven,  you  will  have  completed  the  development 
of  your  forces." 

"You  mistake  me,  — I  am  but  a  spectator." 

"  Yes ;  but  you  desire  to  go  behind  the  scenes ;  and  he  who 
once  grows  familiar  with  the  green-room,  longs  to  be  an 
actor." 

With  Madame  de  Ventadour  and  the  De  Montaignes  Mal- 
travers passed  the  chief  part  of  his  time.  They  knew  how  to 
appreciate  his  nobler  and  to  love  his  gentler  attributes  and 
qualities;  they  united  in  a  warm  interest  for  his  future  fate; 
they  combated  his  Philosophy  of  Inaction;  and  they  felt  that 
1  Has  not  all  this  proved  prophetic  1 


248  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

it  was  because  he  was  not  happy  that  he  was  not  wise.  Ex- 
perience was  to  him  what  ignorance  had  been  to  Alice.  His 
faculties  were  chilled  and  dormant.  As  affection  to  those  who 
are  unskilled  in  all  things,  so  is  affection  to  those  who  despair 
of  all  things.  The  mind  of  Maltravers  was  a  world  without 
a  sun! 


CHAPTER  III. 

C<ELEBS,  quid  agami  ^  —  Horace. 

In  a  room  at  Fenton's  Hotel  sat  Lord  Vargrave  and  Caroline 
Lady  Doltimore,  —  two  months  after  the  marriage  of  the 
latter. 

"Doltimore  has  positively  fixed,  then,  to  go  abroad  on  your 
return  from  Cornwall?" 

"Positively, — to  Paris.  You  can  join  us  at  Christmas,  I 
trust?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it;  and  before  then  I  hope  that  I  shall 
have  arranged  certain  public  matters,  which  at  present  harass 
and  absorb  me  even  more  than  my  private  affairs." 

"  You  have  managed  to  obtain  terms  with  Mr.  Douce,  and 
to  delay  the  repayment  of  your  debt  to  him?" 

"Yes,  I  hope  so,  till  I  touch  Miss  Cameron's  income;  which 
will  be  mine,  I  trust,  by  the  time  she  is  eighteen." 

"You  mean  the  forfeit  money  of  thirty  thousand  pounds?" 

"  Not  I ;  I  mean  what  I  said !  " 

"Can  you  really  imagine  she  will  still  accept  your  hand?" 

"With  your  aid,  I  do  imagine  it!  Hear  me.  You  must 
take  Evelyn  with  you  to  Paris.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  she 
will  be  delighted  to  accompany  you ;  nay,  I  have  paved  the 
way  so  far.  For,  of  course,  as  a  friend  of  the  family,  and 
guardian  to  Evelyn,  I  have  maintained  a  correspondence  with 
Lady  Vargrave.    She  informs  me  that  Evelyn  has  been  unwell 

1  "  What  shall  I  do,  a  bachelor  ?  " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  249 

and  low-spirited;  that  she  fears  Brook-Green  is  dull  for  her, 
etc.  I  wrote,  in  reply,  to  say  that  the  more  my  ward  saw  of 
the  world,  prior  to  her  accession,  when  of  age,  to  the  position 
she  would  occupy  in  it,  the  more  she  would  fulfil  my  late 
uncle's  wishes  with  respect  to  her  education  and  so  forth.  I 
added  that  as  you  were  going  to  Paris,  and  as  you  loved  her 
so  much,  there  could  not  be  a  better  opportunity  for  her  en- 
trance into  life  under  the  most  favourable  auspices.  Lady 
Vargrave's  answer  to  this  letter  arrived  this  morning:  she 
will  consent  to  such  an  arrangement  should  you  propose  it." 

"But  what  good  will  result  to  yourself  in  this  project?  At 
Paris  you  will  be  sure  of  rivals,  and  —  " 

"Caroline,"  interrupted  Lord  Vargrave,  "I  know  very  well 
what  you  would  say :  I  also  know  all  the  danger  I  must  incur. 
But  it  is  a  choice  of  evils,  and  I  choose  the  least.  You  see 
that  while  she  is  at  Brook-Green,  and  under  the  eye  of  that 
sly  old  curate,  I  can  effect  nothing  with  her.  There,  she  is 
entirely  removed  from  my  influence:  not  so  abroad;  not  so 
under  your  roof.  Listen  to  me  still  further.  In  this  country, 
and  especially  in  the  seclusion  and  shelter  of  Brook-Green,  I 
have  no  scope  for  any  of  those  means  which  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  resort  to,  in  failure  of  all  else." 

"What  can  you  intend?"  said  Caroline,  with  a  slight 
shudder. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  intend  yet.  But  this,  at  least,  I  can 
tell  you,  — that  Miss  Cameron's  fortune  I  must  and  will  have. 
I  am  a  desperate  man;  and  I  can  play  a  desperate  game,  if 
need  be." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  /  will  aid,  will  abet?  " 

"  Hush,  not  so  loud !  Yes,  Caroline,  you  will,  and  you  must 
aid  and  abet  me  in  any  project  I  may  form." 

"  Must !  Lord  Vargrave?  " 

"Ay,"  said  Lumley,  with  a  smile,  and  sinking  his  voice  into 
a  whisper,  —  "  ay !  you  are  in  my  'power  !  " 

"  Traitor !  —  you  cannot  dare !  you  cannot  mean  —  " 

"  I  mean  nothing  more  than  to  remind  you  of  the  ties  that 
exist  between  us,  —  ties  which  ought  to  render  us  the  firmest 
and  most  confidential  of  friends.     Come,  Caroline,  recollect 


250  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

all  the  benefit  must  not  lie  on  one  side.  I  have  obtained  for 
you  rank  and  wealth ;  I  have  procured  you  a  husband,  —  you 
must  help  me  to  a  wife !  " 

Caroline  sank  back,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"I  allow,"  continued  Vargrave,  coldly,  —  "I  allow  that  your 
beauty  and  talent  were  sufficient  of  themselves  to  charm  a 
wiser  man  than  Doltimore;  but  had  I  not  suppressed  jeal- 
ousy, sacrificed  love,  had  I  dropped  a  hint  to  your  liege  lord, 
—  nay,  had  I  not  fed  his  lap-dog  vanity  by  all  the  cream  and 
sugar  of  flattering  falsehoods,  —  you  would  be  Caroline  Mer- 
ton  still!" 

"  Oh,  would  that  I  were !  Oh  that  I  were  anything  but  your 
tool,  your  victim !  Fool  that  I  was !  wretch  that  I  am !  I  am 
rightly  punished! " 

"Forgive  me,  forgive  me,  dearest,"  said  Vargrave,  sooth- 
ingly; "I  was  to  blame,  forgive  me:  but  you  irritated,  you 
maddened  me,  by  your  seeming  indifference  to  my  prosperity, 
my  fate.  I  tell  you  again  and  again,  pride  of  my  soul,  I  tell 
you,  that  you  are  the  only  being  I  love !  and  if  you  will  allow 
me,  if  you  will  rise  superior,  as  I  once  fondly  hoped,  to  all 
the  cant  and  prejudice  of  convention  and  education,  the  only 
woman  I  could  ever  respect,  as  well  as  love.  Oh,  hereafter, 
when  you  see  me  at  that  height  to  which  I  feel  that  I  am 
born  to  climb,  let  me  think  that  to  your  generosity,  your 
affection,  your  zeal,  I  owed  the  ascent.  At  present  I  am  on 
the  precipice ;  without  your  hand  I  fall  forever.  My  own  for- 
tune is  gone ;  the  miserable  forfeit  due  to  me,  if  Evelyn  con- 
tinues to  reject  my  suit,  when  she  has  arrived  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  is  deeply  mortgaged.  I  am  engaged  in  vast  and 
daring  schemes,  in  which  I  may  either  rise  to  the  highest  sta- 
tion or  lose  that  which  I  now  hold.  In  either  case,  how  neces- 
sary to  me  is  wealth:  in  the  one  instance,  to  maintain  my 
advancement;  in  the  other,  to  redeem  my  fall." 

"But  did  you  not  tell  me,"  said  Caroline,  "that  Evelyn 
proposed  and  promised  to  place  her  fortune  at  your  disposal, 
even  while  rejecting  your  hand?" 

"  Absurd  mockery !  "  exclaimed  Vargrave ;  "  the  foolish 
boast  of  a  girl,  —  an  impulse  liable  to  every  caprice.     Can 


ALICE  ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  251 

you  suppose  that  when  she  launches  into  the  extravagance 
natural  to  her  age  and  necessary  to  her  position,  she  will  not 
find  a  thousand  demands  upon  her  rent-roll  not  dreamed  of 
now ;  a  thousand  vanities  and  baubles  that  will  soon  erase  my 
poor  and  hollow  claim  from  her  recollection?  Can  you  sup- 
pose that,  if  she  marry  another,  her  husband  will  ever  con- 
sent to  a  child's  romance?  And  even  were  all  this  possible, 
were  it  possible  that  girls  were  not  extravagant,  and  that 
husbands  had  no  common- sense,  is  it  for  me.  Lord  Vargrave, 
to  be  a  mendicant  upon  reluctant  bounty,  —  a  poor  cousin,  a 
pensioned  led-captain?  Heaven  knows  I  have  as  little  false 
pride  as  any  man,  but  still  this  is  a  degradation  I  cannot 
stoop  to.  Besides,  Caroline,  I  am  no  miser,  no  Harpagon :  I 
do  not  want  wealth  for  wealth's  sake,  but  for  the  advantages 
it  bestows,  — respect,  honour,  position;  and  these  I  get  as  the 
husband  of  the  great  heiress.  Should  I  get  them  as  her 
dependant?  No:  for  more  than  six  years  I  have  built  my 
schemes  and  shaped  my  conduct  according  to  one  assured  and 
definite  object;  and  that  object  I  shall  not  now,  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  let  slip  from  my  hands.  Enough  of  this : 
you  will  pass  Brook-Green  in  returning  from  Cornwall ;  you 
will  take  Evelyn  with  you  to  Paris,  —  leave  the  rest  to  me. 
Fear  no  folly,  no  violence,  from  my  plans,  whatever  they  may 
be :  I  work  in  the  dark.  Nor  do  I  despair  that  Evelyn  will 
love,  that  Evelyn  will  voluntarily  accept  me  yet :  my  disposi- 
tion is  sanguine ;  I  look  to  the  bright  side  of  things ;  do  the 
same ! " 

Here  their  conference  was  interrupted  by  Lord  Doltimore, 
who  lounged  carelessly  into  the  room,  with  his  hat  on  one 
side.  "Ah,  Vargrave,  how  are  you?  You  will  not  forget  the 
letters  of  introduction?    Where  are  you  going,  Caroline?" 

"  Only  to  my  own  room,  to  put  on  my  bonnet ;  the  carriage 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes."     And  Caroline  escaped. 

"So  you  go  to  Cornwall  to-morrow,  Doltimore?" 

"Yes;  cursed  bore!  but  Lady  Elizabeth  insists  on  seeing 
us,  and  I  don't  object  to  a  week's  good  shooting.  The  old 
lady,  too,  has  something  to  leave,  and  Caroline  had  no  dowry, 
—  not  that  I  care  for  it;  but  still  marriage  is  expensive." 


252  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"By  the  by,  you  will  want  the  five  thousand  pounds  you 

lent  me?" 

"  Why,  whenever  it  is  convenient. " 

"  Say  no  more,  —  it  shall  be  seen  to.  Doltimore,  I  am  very 
anxious  that  Lady  Doltimore's  dehut  at  Paris  should  be  bril- 
liant :  everything  depends  on  falling  into  the  right  set.  For 
myself,  I  don't  care  about  fashion,  and  never  did;  but  if 
I  were  married,  and  an  idle  man  like  you,  it  might  be 
different." 

"Oh,  you  will  be  very  useful  to  us  when  we  return  to 
London.  Meanwhile,  you  know,  you  have  my  proxy  in  the 
Lords.  I  dare  say  there  will  be  some  sharp  work  the  first 
week  or  two  after  the  recess." 

"  Very  likely ;  and  depend  on  one  thing,  my  dear  Doltimore, 
that  when  I  am  in  the  Cabinet,  a  certain  friend  of  mine  shall 
be  an  earl.     Adieu." 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  Vargrave,  good-by ;  and,  I  say,  —  I  say, 
don't  distress  yourself  about  that  trifle ;  a  few  months  hence 
it  will  suit  me  just  as  well." 

"  Thanks.  I  will  just  look  into  my  accounts,  and  use  you 
without  ceremony.  Well,  I  dare  say  we  shall  meet  at  Paris. 
Oh,  I  forgot,  —  I  observe  that  you  have  renewed  your  intimacy 
with  Legard.  Now,  he  is  a  very  good  fellow,  and  I  gave  him 
that  place  to  oblige  you;  still,  as  you  are  no  longer  a  gargon 
—  but  perhaps  I  shall  offend  you?" 

"Not  at  all.     What  is  there  against  Legard?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,  —  but  he  is  a  bit  of  a  boaster.  I 
dare  say  his  ancestor  was  a  Gascon,  poor  fellow! — and  he 
affects  to  say  that  you  can't  choose  a  coat,  or  buy  a  horse, 
without  his  approval  and  advice,  —  that  he  can  turn  you  round 
his  finger.  Now  this  hurts  your  consequence  in  the  world,  — 
you  don't  get  credit  for  your  own  excellent  sense  and  taste. 
Take  my  advice,  avoid  these  young  hangers-on  of  fashion, 
these  club-room  lions.  Having  no  importance  of  their  own, 
they  steal  the  importance  of  their  friends.     Verbum  sap." 

"  You  are  very  right,  —  Legard  is  a  coxcomb;  and  now  I  see 
why  he  talked  of  joining  us  at  Paris." 

"Don't  let  him  do  any  such  thing!     He  will  be   telling 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  253 

the  Frenchmen  that  her  ladyship  is  in  love  with  him,  ha, 
ha!" 

"Ha,  ha!  —  a  very  good  joke  —  poor  Caroline! — very 
good  joke ! " 

"Well,  good-by,  once  more."  And  Vargrave  closed  the 
door. 

"  Legard  go  to  Paris  —  not  if  Evelyn  goes  there !  "  muttered 
Lumley.  "Besides,  I  want  no  partner  in  the  little  that  one 
can  screw  out  of  this  blockhead." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Mr.  Bcmblecase,  a  word  with  yon  —  I  have  a  little  business. 
Farewell,  the  goodly  Manor  of  Blackacre,  with  all  its  woods,  underwoods, 
and  appurtenances  whatever.  —  Wycherley  :  Plain  Dealer. 

In  quitting  Fenton's  Hotel,  Lord  Vargrave  entered  into  one 
of  the  clubs  in  St.  James's  Street:  this  was  rather  unusual 
with  him,  for  he^  was  not  a  club  man.  It  was  not  his  system 
to  spend  his  time  for  nothing.  But  it  was  a  wet  December 
day ;  the  House  was  not  yet  assembled,  and  he  had  done  his 
official  business.  Here,  as  he  was  munching  a  biscuit  and 
reading  an  article  in  one  of  the  ministerial  papers  —  the  heads 
of  which  he  himself  had  supplied  —  Lord  Saxingham  joined 
and  drew  him  to  the  window. 

"I  have  reason  to  think,"  said  the  earl,  "that  your  visit  to 
Windsor  did  good." 

"  Ah,  indeed ;  so  I  fancied. " 

"  I  do  not  think  that  a  certain  personage  will  ever  consent  to 

the question ;  and  the  premier,  whom  I  saw  to-day,  seems 

chafed  and  irritated." 

"Nothing  can  be  better;  I  know  that  we  are  in  the  right 
boat." 


254  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"I  hope  it  is  not  true,  Lumley,  that  your  marriage  with 
Miss  Cameron  is  broken  off;  such  was  the  on  dit  in  the  club, 
just  before  you  entered." 

"  Contradict  it,  my  dear  lord,  —  contradict  it.  I  hope  by 
the  spring  to  introduce  Lady  Vargrave  to  you.  But  who 
broached  the  absurd  report?" 

"Why,  your  proUgi,  Legard,  says  he  heard  so  from  his 
uncle,  who  heard  it  from  Sir  John  Merton." 

"Legard  is  a  puppy,  and  Sir  John  Merton  a  jackass. 
Legard  had  better  attend  to  his  office,  if  he  wants  to  get  on; 
and  I  wish  you  'd  tell  him  so.  I  have  heard  somewhere  that 
he  talks  of  going  to  Paris,  — you  can  just  hint  to  him  that  he 
must  give  up  such  idle  habits.  Public  functionaries  are  not 
now  what  they  were,  —  people  are  expected  to  work  for  the 
money  they  pocket;  otherwise  Legard  is  a  cleverish  fellow, 
and  deserves  promotion.  A  word  or  two  of  caution  from  you 
will  do  him  a  vast  deal  of  good. " 

"Be  sure  I  will  lecture  him.  Will  you  dine  with  me 
to-day,  Lumley?" 

"No.  I  expect  my  co-trustee,  Mr.  Douce,  on  matters  of 
business,  —  a  tete-a-tete  dinner. " 

Lord  Vargrave  had,  as  he  conceived,  very  cleverly  talked 
over  Mr.  Douce  into  letting  his  debt  to  that  gentleman  run 
on  for  the  present;  and  in  the  meanwhile,  he  had  over- 
whelmed Mr.  Douce  with  his  condescensions.  That  gentle- 
man had  twice  dined  with  Lord  Vargrave,  and  Lord  Vargrave 
had  twice  dined  with  him.  The  occasion  of  the  present  more 
familiar  entertainment  was  in  a  letter  from  Mr.  Douce,  beg- 
ging to  see  Lord  Vargrave  on  particular  business;  and  Var- 
grave, who  by  no  means  liked  the  word  business  from  a 
gentleman  to  whom  he  owed  money,  thought  that  it  would 
go  off  more  smoothly  if  sprinkled  with  champagne. 

Accordingly,  he  begged  "  My  dear  Mr,  Douce "  to  excuse 
ceremony,  and  dine  with  him  on  Thursday  at  seven  o'clock, 
—  he  was  really  so  busy  all  the  mornings. 

At  seven  o'clock,  Mr.  Douce  came.  The  moment  he 
entered  Vargrave  called  out,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Din- 
ner immediately !  "    And  as  the  little  man  bowed  and  shuffled. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  266 

and  fidgeted  and  wriggled  (while  Vargrave  shook  him  by  the 
hand),  as  if  he  thought  he  was  going  himself  to  be  spitted, 
his  host  said,  "  With  your  leave,  we  '11  postpone  the  budget 
till  after  dinner.  It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to  postpone 
budgets  as  long  as  we  can,  — eh?  Well,  and  how  are  all  at 
home?  Devilish  cold;  is  it  not?  So  you  go  to  your  villa 
every  day?  That 's  what  keeps  you  in  such  capital  health. 
You  know  I  had  a  villa  too,  —  though  I  never  had  time  to  go 
there." 

"Ah,  yes;  I  think,  I  remember,  at  Ful-Ful-Fulham! " 
gasped  out  Mr.  Douce.  "Your  poor  uncle's  —  now  Lady 
Var-Vargrave's  jointure-house.     So  —  so  —  " 

"  She  don't  live  there!  "  burst  in  Vargrave  (far  too  impatient 
to  be  polite).  "Too  cockney fied  for  her,  — gave  it  up  to  me; 
very  pretty  place,  but  d — d  expensive.  I  could  not  afford  it, 
never  went  there,  and  so  I  have  let  it  to  my  wine-merchant; 
the  rent  just  pays  his  bill.  You  will  taste  some  of  the  sofas 
and  tables  to-day  in  his  champagne.  I  don't  know  how  it  is, 
I  always  fancy  my  sherry  smells  like  my  poor  uncle's  old 
leather  chair :  very  odd  smell  it  had,  —  a  kind  of  respectable 
smell!     I  hope  you  're  hungry,  — dinner  's  ready." 

Vargrave  thus  rattled  away  in  order  to  give  the  good  banker 
to  understand  that  his  affairs  were  in  the  most  flourishing 
condition :  and  he  continued  to  keep  up  the  ball  all  dinner- 
time, stopping  Mr.  Douce's  little,  miserable,  gasping,  dacelike 
mouth,  with  "a  glass  of  wine,  Douce?"  or  "by  the  by.  Douce," 
whenever  he  saw  that  worthy  gentleman  about  to  make  the 
.^schylean  improvement  of  a  second  person  in  the  dialogue. 

At  length,  dinner  being  fairly  over,  and  the  servants  with- 
drawn. Lord  Vargrave,  knowing  that  sooner  or  later  Douce 
would  have  his  say,  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire,  put  his  feet  on 
the  fender,  and  cried,  as  he  tossed  off  his  claret,  "Xow, 
Douce,  what  can  i  do  fob  you?" 

Mr.  Douce  opened  his  eyes  to  their  full  extent,  and  then  as 
rapidly  closed  them;  and  this  operation  he  continued  till, 
having  snuffed  them  so  much  that  they  could  by  no  possibil- 
ity burn  any  brighter,  he  was  convinced  that  he  had  not  mis- 
understood his  lordship. 


256  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Indeed,  then,"  he  began,  in  his  most  frightened  manner, 
"  indeed  —  I  —  reall}^,  your  lordship  is  very  good  —  I  —  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you  on  business." 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you, — some  little  favour,  eh? 
Snug  sinecure  for  a  favourite  clerk,  or  a  place  in  the  Stamp- 
Office  for  your  fat  footman  —  John,  I  think  you  call  him? 
You  know,  my  dear  Pouce,  you  may  command  me." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  you  are  all  good-good-goodness  —  but  — 
but  —  " 

Vargrave  threw  himself  back,  and  shutting  his  eyes  and 
pursing  up  his  mouth,  resolutely  suffered  Mr.  Douce  to  un- 
bosom himself  without  interruption.  He  was  considerably 
relieved  to  find  that  the  business  referred  to  related  only  to 
Miss  Cameron. 

Mr.  Douce  having  reminded  Lord  Vargrave,  as  he  had  often 
done  before,  of  the  wishes  of  his  uncle,  that  the  greater  por- 
tion of  the  money  bequeathed  to  Evelyn  should  be  invested 
in  land,  proceeded  to  say  that  a  most  excellent  opportunity 
presented  itself  for  just  such  a  purchase  as  would  have  re- 
joiced the  heart  of  the  late  lord,  —  a  superb  place,  in  the  style 
of  Blickling,  — deer-park  six  miles  round,  ten  thousand  acres 
of  land,  bringing  in  a  clear  eight  thousand  pounds  a  year,  pur- 
chase money  only  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  pounds. 
The  whole  estate  was,  indeed,  much  larger,  —  eighteen  thou- 
sand acres ;  but  then  the  more  distant  farms  could  be  sold  in 
different  lots,  in  order  to  meet  the  exact  sum  Miss  Cameron's 
trustees  Were  enabled  to  invest. 

"Well,"  said  Vargrave,  "and  where  is  it?  My  poor  uncle 
was  after  De  Clifford's  estate,  but  the  title  was  not  good." 

"Oh!  this  —  is  much  —  much — much  fi-fi-finer;  famous 
investment  —  but  rather  far  off  —  in  —  in  the  north,  Li-Li- 
Lisle  Court." 

"Lisle  Court!  Why,  does  not  that  belong  to  Colonel 
Maltravers?" 

"Yes.  It  is,  indeed,  quite,  I  may  say,  a  secret  —  yes  — 
really  —  a  se-se-secret  —  not  in  the  market  yet  —  not  at  all 
—  soon  snapped  up." 

"Humph!     Has  Colonel  Maltravers  been  extravagant?" 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  257 

"No;  but  he  does  not  —  I  hear  —  or  rather  Lady  —  Julia  — 
so  I  'm  told,  yes,  indeed  —  does  not  li-like  — going  so  far,  and 
so  they  spend  the  winter  in  Italy  instead.  Yes  —  very  odd  — 
very  fine  place." 

Luraley  was  slightly  acquainted  with  the  elder  brother  of 
his  old  friend,  — a  man  who  possessed  some  of  Ernest's  faults, 
—  very  proud,  and  very  exacting,  and  very  fastidious ;  but  all 
these  faults  were  developed  in  the  ordinary  commonplace 
world,  and  were  not  the  refined  abstractions  of  his  younger 
brother. 

Colonel  Maltravers  had  continued,  since  he  entered  the 
Guards,  to  be  thoroughly  the  man  of  fashion,  and  nothing 
more.  But  rich  and  well-born,  and  highly  connected,  and 
thoroughly  a  la  mode  as  he  was,  his  pride  made  him  uncom- 
fortable in  London,  while  his  fastidiousness  made  him  un- 
comfortable in  the  country.  He  was  rather  a  great  person, 
but  he  wanted  to  be  a  very  great  person.  This  he  was  at 
Lisle  Court;  but  that  did  not  satisfy  him.  He  wanted  not 
only  to  be  a  very  great  person,  but  a  very  great  person  among 
very  great  persons  —  and  squires  and  parsons  bored  him. 
Lady  Julia,  his  wife,  was  a  fine  lady,  inane  and  pretty,  who 
saw  everything  through  her  husband's  eyes.  He  was  quite 
master  cJiez  luiy  was  Colonel  Maltravers!  He  lived  a  great 
deal  abroad;  for  on  the  Continent  his  large  income  seemed 
princely,  while  his  high  character,  thorough  breeding,  and 
personal  advantages,  which  were  remarkable,  secured  him  a 
greater  position  in  foreign  courts  than  at  his  own.  Two 
things  had  greatly  disgusted  him  with  Lisle  Court, — trifles 
they  might  be  with  others,  but  they  were  not  trifles  to  Cuth- 
bert  Maltravers ;  in  the  first  place,  a  man  who  had  been  his 
father's  attorney,  and  who  was  the  very  incarnation  of  coarse 
unrepellable  familiarity,  had  bought  an  estate  close  by  the 
said  Lisle  Court,  and  had,  horresco  referens,  been  made  a  bar- 
onet! Sir  Gregory  Gubbins  took  precedence  of  Colonel  Mal- 
travers !  He  could  not  ride  out  but  he  met  Sir  Gregory ;  he 
could  not  dine  out  but  he  had  the  pleasure  of  walking  behind 
Sir  Gregory's  bright  blue  coat  with  its  bright  brass  buttons. 
In  his  last  visit  to  Lisle  Court,  which  he  had  then  crowded 

17 


258  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

with  all  manner  of  fine  people,  he  had  seen  —  the  very  first 
morning  after  his  arrival  —  seen  from  the  large  window  of 
his  state  saloon,  a  great  staring  white,  red,  blue,  and  gilt 
thing,  at  the  end  of  the  stately  avenue  planted  by  Sir  Guy 
Maltravers  in  honour  of  the  victory  over  the  Spanish  armada. 
He  looked  in  mute  surprise,  and  everybody  else  looked;  and 
a  polite  German  count,  gazing  through  his  eye-glass,  said, 
"Ah!  dat  is  vat  you  call  a  vim  in  your  pays, — the  vim  of 
Colonel  Maltravers ! " 

This  "  vim  '*  was  the  pagoda  summer-house  of  Sir  Gregory 
Gubbins,  erected  in  imitation  of  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton. 
Colonel  Maltravers  was  miserable:  the  vim  haunted  him;  it 
seemed  ubiquitous ;  he  could  not  escape  it,  —  it  was  built  on 
the  highest  spot  in  the  county.  Ride,  walk,  sit  where  he 
would,  the  vim  stared  at  him;  and  he  thought  he  saw  little 
mandarins  shake  their  round  little  heads  at  him.  This  was 
one  of  the  great  curses  of  Lisle  Court ;  the  other  was  yet  more 
galling.  The  owners  of  Lisle  Court  had  for  several  genera- 
tions possessed  the  dominant  interest  in  the  county  town. 
The  colonel  himself  meddled  little  in  politics,  and  was  too 
fine  a  gentleman  for  the  drudgery  of  parliament.  He  had 
offered  the  seat  to  Ernest,  when  the  latter  had  commenced 
his  public  career;  but  the  result  of  a  communication  proved 
that  their  political  views  were  dissimilar,  and  the  negotiation 
dropped  without  ill-feeling  on  either  side.  Subsequently  a 
vacancy  occurred;  and  Lady  Julia's  brother  (just  made  a  Lord 
of  the  Treasury)  wished  to  come  into  parliament,  so  the 
county  town  was  offered  to  him.  Now,  the  proud  commoner 
had  married  into  the  family  of  a  peer  as  proud  as  himself, 
and  Colonel  Maltravers  was  always  glad  whenever  he  could 
impress  his  consequence  on  his  connections  by  doing  them  a 
favour.  He  wrote  to  his  steward  to  see  that  the  thing  was 
properly  settled,  and  came  down  on  the  nomination-day  "to 
share  the  triumph  and  partake  the  gale."  Guess  his  indigna- 
tion, when  he  found  the  nephew  of  Sir  Gregory  Gubbins  was 
already  in  the  field  I  The  result  of  the  election  was  that  Mr. 
Augustus  Gubbins  came  in,  and  that  Colonel  Maltravers  was 
pelted  with  cabbage-stalks,  and  accused  of  attempting  to  sell 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  259 

the  worthy  and  independent  electors  to  a  government  nomi- 
nee !  In  shame  and  disgust,  Colonel  Maltravers  broke  up  his 
establishment  at  Lisle  Court,  and  once  more  retired  to  the 
Continent. 

About  a  week  from  the  date  now  touched  upon.  Lady  Julia 
and  himself  had  arrived  in  London  from  Vienna;  and  a  new 
mortification  awaited  the  unfortunate  owner  of  Lisle  Court. 
A  railroad  company  had  been  established,  of  which  Sir  Greg- 
ory Gubbins  was  a  principal  shareholder;  and  the  speculator, 
Mr.  Augustus  Gubbins,  one  of  the  "most  useful  men  in  the 
House,"  had  undertaken  to  carry  the  bill  through  parliament. 
Colonel  Maltravers  received  a  letter  of  portentous  size,  inclos- 
ing the  map  of  the  places  which  this  blessed  railway  was  to 
bisect;  and  lo!  just  at  the  bottom  of  his  park  ran  a  portentous 
line,  which  informed  him  of  the  sacrifice  he  was  expected  to 
make  for  the  public  good,  —  especially  for  the  good  of  that 
very  county  town,  the  inhabitants  of  which  had  pelted  him 
with  cabbage-stalks ! 

Colonel  Maltravers  lost  all  patience.  Unacquainted  with 
our  wise  legislative  proceedings,  he  was  not  aware  that  a  rail- 
way planned  is  a  very  diiferent  thing  from  a  railway  made; 
and  that  parliamentary  committees  are  not  by  any  means 
favourable  to  schemes  for  carrying  the  public  through  a  gen- 
tleman's park. 

"This  country  is  not  to  be  lived  in,"  said  he  to  Lady  Julia; 
"  it  gets  worse  and  worse  every  year.  I  am  sure  I  never  had 
any  comfort  in  Lisle  Court.     I  've  a  great  mind  to  sell  it." 

"Why,  indeed,  as  we  have  no  sons,  only  daughters,  and 
Ernest  is  so  well  provided  for,"  said  Lady  Julia,  "and  the 
place  is  so  far  from  London,  and  the  neighbourhood  is  so  dis- 
agreeable, I  think  we  could  do  very  well  without  it." 

Colonel  Maltravers  made  no  answer,  but  he  revolved  the 
pros  and  cons  ;  and  then  he  began  to  think  how  much  it  cost 
him  in  gamekeepers  and  carpenters  and  bailiffs  and  gardeners 
and  Heaven  knows  whom  besides ;  and  then  the  pagoda  flashed 
across  him;  and  then  the  cabbage -stalks,  and  at  last  he  went 
to  his  solicitor. 

"You  may  sell  Lisle  Court,"  said  he,  quietly. 


260  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

The  solicitor  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink.  "  The  particulars, 
Colonel?" 

"  Particulars  of  Lisle  Court !  everybody,  that  is,  every  gen- 
tleman, knows  Lisle  Court !  " 

"Price,  sir?" 

"You  know  the  rents;  calculate  accordingly.  It  will  be 
too  large  a  purchase  for  one  individual;  sell  the  outlying 
woods  and  farms  separately  from  the  rest." 

"We  must  draw  up  an  advertisement,  Colonel." 

"Advertise  Lisle  Court!  out  of  the  question,  sir.  I  can 
have  no  publicity  given  to  my  intention:  mention  it  quietly 
to  any  capitalist;  but  keep  it  out  of  the  papers  till  it  is  all 
settled.  In  a  week  or  two  you  will  find  a  purchaser,  —  the 
sooner  the  better." 

Besides  his  horror  of  newspaper  comments  and  newspaper 
puffs,  Colonel  Maltravers  dreaded  that  his  brother  —  then  in 
Paris  —  should  learn  his  intention,  and  attempt  to  thwart  it; 
and,  somehow  or  other,  the  colonel  was  a  little  in  awe  of 
Ernest,  and  a  little  ashamed  of  his  resolution.  He  did  not 
know  that,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  Ernest  himself  had 
thought  of  selling  Burleigh. 

The  solicitor  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  this  way  of 
settling  the  matter.  However,  he  whispered  it  about  that 
Lisle  Court  was  in  the  market;  and  as  it  really  was  one  of 
the  most  celebrated  places  of  its  kind  in  England,  the  whis- 
per spread  among  bankers  and  brewers  and  soap-boilers  and 
other  rich  people  —  the  Medici  of  the  New  Noblesse  rising  up 
amongst  us  —  till  at  last  it  reached  the  ears  of  Mr.  Douce. 

Lord  Vargrave,  however  bad  a  man  he  might  be,  had  not 
many  of  those  vices  of  character  which  belong  to  what  I  may 
call  the  personal  class  of  vices,  —  that  is,  he  had  no  ill-will  to 
individuals.  He  was  not,  ordinarily,  a  jealous  man,  nor  a 
spiteful,  nor  a  malignant,  nor  a  vindictive  man:  his  vices 
arose  from  utter  indifference  to  all  men,  and  all  things  —  ex- 
cept as  conducive  to  his  own  ends.  He  would  not  have  in- 
jured a  worm  if  it  did  him  no  good;  but  he  would  have  set 
any  house  on  fire  if  he  had  no  other  means  of  roasting  his  own 
eggs.     Yet  still,  if  any  feeling  of  personal  rancour  could  har- 


ALICE;    OR,    THE  MYSTERIES.  261 

hour  in  his  breast,  it  was,  first,  towards  Evelyn  Cameron,  and, 
secondly,  towards  Ernest  Maltravers.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  he  did  long  for  revenge,  —  revenge  against  the  one 
for  stealing  his  patrimony,  and  refusing  his  hand;  and  that 
revenge  he  hoped  to  gratify. 

As  to  the  other,  it  was  not  so  much  dislike  he  felt,  as  an 
uneasy  sentiment  of  inferiority.  However  well  he  himself 
had  got  on  in  the  world,  he  yet  grudged  the  reputation  of  a 
man  whom  he  had  remembered  a  wayward,  inexperienced  boy: 
he  did  not  love  to  hear  any  one  praise  Maltravers.  He 
fancied,  too,  that  this  feeling  was  reciprocal,  and  that  Mal- 
travers was  pained  at  hearing  of  any  new  step  in  his  own 
career.  In  fact,  it  was  that  sort  of  jealousy  which  men  often 
feel  for  the  companions  of  their  youth,  whose  characters  are 
higher  than  their  own,  and  whose  talents  are  of  an  order  they 
do  not  quite  comprehend.  Now,  it  certainly  did  seem  at  that 
moment  to  Lord  Vargrave  that  it  would  be  a  most  splendid 
triumph  over  Mr.  Maltravers  of  Burleigh  to  be  lord  of  Lisle 
Court,  the  hereditary  seat  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  family : 
to  be,  as  it  were,  in  the  very  shoes  of  Mr.  Ernest  Maltravers 's 
elder  brother.  He  knew,  too,  that  it  was  a  property  of  great 
consequence.    Lord  Vargrave  of  Lisle  Court  would  hold  a  very 

different  post  in  the  peerage  from  Lord  Vargrave  of  , 

Fulham!  Nobody  would  call  the  owner  of  Lisle  Court  an 
adventurer;  nobody  would  suspect  such  a  man  of  caring  three 
straws  about  place  and  salary.  And  if  he  married  Evelyn, 
and  if  Evelyn  bought  Lisle  Court,  would  not  Lisle  Court  be 
his?  He  vaulted  over  the  ifs,  stiff  monosyllables  though  they 
were,  with  a  single  jump.  Besides,  even  should  the  thing 
come  to  nothing,  there  was  the  very  excuse  he  sought  for 
joining  Evelyn  at  Paris,  for  conversing  with  her,  consulting 
her.  It  was  true  that  the  will  of  the  late  lord  left  it  solely 
at  the  discretion  of  the  trustees  to  select  such  landed  invest- 
ment as  seemed  best  to  them;  but  still  it  was,  if  not  legally 
necessary,  at  least  but  a  proper  courtesy  to  consult  Evelyn. 
And  plans,  and  drawings,  and  explanations,  and  rent-rolls, 
would  justify  him  in  spending  morning  after  morning  alone 
with  her. 


262  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Thus  cogitating,  Lord  Vargrave  suffered  Mr.  Douce  to 
stammer  out  sentence  upon  sentence,  till  at  length,  as  he 
rang  for  coffee,  his  lordship  stretched  himself  with  the  air 
of  a  man  stretching  himself  into  self-complacency  or  a  good 
thing,  and  said,  — 

"  Mr.  Douce,  I  will  go  down  to  Lisle  Court  as  soon  as  I  can ; 
I  will  see  it;  I  will  ascertain  all  about  it;  I  will  consider 
favourably  of  it.  I  agree  with  you,  I  think  it  will  do 
famously. " 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Douce,  who  seemed  singularly  anxious 
about  the  matter,  '*  we  must  make  haste,  my  lord ;  for  really 

—  yes,  indeed  —  if  —  if — if  Baron  Roths  —  Rothschild  should 

—  that  is  to  say  —  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand;  keep  the  thing  close,  my  dear 
Douce;  make  friends  with  the  colonel's  lawyer;  play  with 
him  a  little,  till  I  can  run  down." 

"  Besides,  you  see,  you  are  such  a  good  man  of  business,  my 
lord  —  that  you  see,  that  —  yes,  really  —  there  must  be  time  to 
draw  out  the  purchase-money  —  sell  out  at  a  prop  —  prop  —  " 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure!  Bless  me,  how  late  it  is!  I 
am  afraid  my  carriage  is  ready.  I  must  go  to  Madame  de 
L 's." 

Mr.  Douce,  who  seemed  to  have  much  more  to  say,  was 
forced  to  keep  it  for  another  time,  and  to  take  his  leave. 

Lord  Vargrave  went  to  Madame  de  L 's.     His  position 

in  what  is  called  Exclusive  Society  was  rather  peculiar.  By 
those  who  affected  to  be  the  best  judges,  the  frankness  of  his 
manner  and  the  easy  oddity  of  his  conversation  were  pro- 
nounced at  variance  with  the  tranquil  serenity  of  thorough 
breeding.  But  still  he  was  a  great  favourite  both  with  fine 
ladies  and  dandies.  His  handsome  keen  countenance,  his 
talents,  his  politics,  his  intrigues,  and  an  animated  boldness 
in  his  bearing,  compensated  for  his  constant  violation  of  all 
the  minutiae  of  orthodox  conventionalism. 

At  this  house  he  met  Colonel  Maltravers,  and  took  an 
opportunity  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  that  gentleman. 
He  then  referred,  in  a  confidential  whisper,  to  the  communi- 
cation he  had  received  touching  Lisle  Court. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  263 

"Yes,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  suppose  I  must  sell  the  place, 
if  I  can  do  so  quietly.  To  be  sure,  when  I  first  spoke  to  my 
lawyer  it  was  in  a  moment  of  vexation,  on  hearing  that  the 

railroad  was  to  go  through  the  park,  but  I  find  that  I 

overrated  that  danger.  Still,  if  you  will  do  me  the  honour 
to  go  and  look  over  the  place,  you  will  find  very  good  shoot- 
ing; and  when  you  come  back,  you  can  see  if  it  will  suit  you. 
Don't  say  anything  about  it  when  you  are  there;  it  is  better 
not  to  publish  my  intention  all  over  the  county.  I  shall  have 
Sir  Gregory  Gubbins  ofEering  to  buy  it  if  you  do !  " 

"  You  may  depend  on  my  discretion.  Have  you  heard  any- 
thing of  your  brother  lately?" 

"Yes;  I  fancy  he  is  going  to  Switzerland.  He  would  soon 
be  in  England,  if  he  heard  I  was  going  to  part  with  Lisle 
Court!" 

"What,  it  would  vex  him  so?" 

"  I  fear  it  would ;  but  he  has  a  nice  old  place  of  his  own,  not 
half  so  large,  and  therefore  not  half  so  troublesome  as  Lisle 
Court." 

"Ay!  and  he  did  talk  of  selling  that  nice  old  place." 

"Selling  Burleigh!  you  surprise  me.  But  really  country 
places  in  England  are  a  bore.  I  suppose  he  has  his  Gubbins 
as  well  as  myself!  " 

Here  the  chief  minister  of  the  government  adorned  by  Lord 
Vargrave's  virtues  passed  by,  and  Lumley  turned  to  greet 
him. 

The  two  ministers  talked  together  most  affectionately  in  a 
close  whisper,  —  so  affectionately,  that  one  might  have  seen, 
with  half  an  eye,  that  they  hated  each  other  like  poison ! 


264  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Inspicere  tanquam  in  speculum,  in  vitas  omuium 
Jubeo.i  — Terence. 

Ernest  Maltravers  still  lingered  at  Paris :  he  gave  up  all 
notion  of  proceeding  farther.  He  was,  in  fact,  tired  of  travel. 
But  there  was  another  reason  that  chained  him  to  that  "Navel 
of  the  Earth,"  —  there  is  not  anywhere  a  better  sounding-board 
to  London  rumours  than  the  English  quartier  between  the 
Boulevard  des  Italiennes  and  the  Tuileries;  here,  at  all 
events,  he  should  soonest  learn  the  worst:  and  every  day, 
as  he  took  up  the  English  newspapers,  a  sick  feeling  of  appre- 
hension and  fear  came  over  him.  No!  till  the  seal  was  set 
upon  the  bond,  till  the  Rubicon  was  passed,  till  Miss  Came- 
ron was  the  wife  of  Lord  Vargrave,  he  could  neither  return  to 
the  home  that  was  so  eloquent  with  the  recollections  of  Eve- 
lyn, nor,  by  removing  farther  from  England,  delay  the  receipt 
of  an  intelligence  which  he  vainly  told  himself  he  was  pre- 
pared to  meet. 

He  continued  to  seek  such  distractions  from  thought  as 
were  within  his  reach;  and  as  his  heart  was  too  occupied  for 
pleasures  which  had,  indeed,  long  since  palled,  those  distrac- 
tions were  of  the  grave  and  noble  character  which  it  is  a  pre- 
rogative of  the  intellect  to  afford  to  the  passions. 

De  Montaigne  was  neither  a  Doctrinaire  nor  a  Republican, 
—  and  yet,  perhaps,  he  was  a  little  of  both.  He  was  one  who 
thought  that  the  tendency  of  all  European  States  is  towards 
Democracy;  but  he  by  no  means  looked  upon  Democracy  as  a 
panacea  for  all  legislative  evils.  He  thought  that,  while 
a  writer  should  be  in  advance  of  his  time,  a  statesman  should 
content  himself  with  marching  by  its  side;  that  a  nation 
could  not  be  ripened,  like  an  exotic,  by  artificial  means ;  that 
it  must  be  developed  only  by  natural  influences.     He  believed 

*  "  I  bid  you  look  into  the  lives  of  all  men,  as  it  were  into  a  mirror." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  265 

that  forms  of  government  are  never  universal  in  their  effects. 
Thus,  De  Montaigne  conceived  that  we  were  wrong  in  attach- 
ing more  importance  to  legislative  than  to  social  reforms.  He 
considered,  for  instance,  that  the  surest  sign  of  our  progres- 
sive civilization  is  in  our  growing  distaste  to  capital  pun- 
ishments. He  believed,  not  in  the  ultimate  perfection  of 
mankind,  but  in  their  progressive  lierfectihility.  He  thought 
that  improvement  was  indefinite;  but  he  did  not  place  its 
advance  more  under  Republican  than  under  Monarchical 
forms.  "Provided,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "all  our  checks 
to  power  are  of  the  right  kind,  it  matters  little  to  what  hands 
the  power  itself  is  confided." 

"^gina  and  Athens,"  said  he,  "were  republics  —  commer- 
cial and  maritime  —  placed  under  the  same  sky,  surrounded 
by  the  same  neighbours,  and  rent  by  the  same  struggles  be- 
tween Oligarchy  and  Democracy.  Yet,  while  one  left  the 
world  an  immortal  heirloom  of  genius,  where  are  the  poets, 
the  philosophers,  the  statesmen  of  the  other?  Arrian  tells  us 
of  republics  in  India,  still  supposed  to  exist  by  modern  inves- 
tigators; but  they  are  not  more  productive  of  liberty  of 
thought,  or  ferment  of  intellect,  than  the  principalities.  In 
Italy  there  were  commonwealths  as  liberal  as  the  Republic 
of  Florence;  but  they  did  not  produce  a  Machiavelli  or  a 
Dante.  What  daring  thought,  what  gigantic  speculation, 
what  democracy  of  wisdom  and  genius,  have  sprung  up 
amongst  the  despotisms  of  Germany!  You  cannot  educate 
two  individuals  so  as  to  produce  the  same  results  from  both; 
you  cannot,  by  similar  constitutions  (which  are  the  education 
of  nations)  produce  the  same  results  from  different  communi- 
ties. The  proper  object  of  statesmen  should  be  to  give  every 
facility  to  the  people  to  develop  themselves,  and  every  facil- 
ity to  philosophy  to  dispute  and  discuss  as  to  the  ultimate 
objects  to  be  obtained.  But  you  cannot,  as  a  practical  legis- 
lator, place  your  country  under  a  melon-frame :  it  must  grow 
of  its  own  accord." 

I  do  not  say  whether  or  not  De  Montaigne  was  wrong !  but 
Maltravers  saw  at  least  that  he  was  faithful  to  his  theories; 
that  all  his  motives  were  sincere,  all  his  practice  pure.     He 


266  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

could  not  but  allow,  too,  that  in  his  occupations  and  labours, 
De  Montaigne  appeared  to  feel  a  sublime  enjoyment;  that,  in 
linking  all  the  powers  of  his  mind  to  active  and  useful  objects, 
De  Montaigne  was  infinitely  happier  than  the  Philosophy  of 
Indifference,  the  scorn  of  ambition,  had  made  Maltravers. 
The  influence  exercised  by  the  large-souled  and  practical 
Frenchman  over  the  fate  and  the  history  of  Maltravers  was 
very  peculiar. 

De  Montaigne  had  not,  apparently  and  directly,  operated 
upon  his  friend's  outward  destinies;  but  he  had  done  so  indi- 
rectly, by  operating  on  his  mind.  Perhaps  it  was  he  who  had 
consolidated  the  first  wavering  and  uncertain  impulses  of  Mal- 
travers towards  literary  exertion;  it  was  he  who  had  consoled 
him  for  the  mortifications  at  the  earlier  part  of  his  career ;  and 
now,  perhaps  he  might  serve,  in  the  full  vigour  of  his  intel- 
lect, permanently  to  reconcile  the  Englishman  to  the  claims 
of  life. 

There  were,  indeed,  certain  conversations  which  Maltravers 
held  with  De  Montaigne,  the  germ  and  pith  of  which  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  place  before  the  reader,  —  for  I  write 
the  inner  as  well  as  the  outer  history  of  a  man ;  and  the  great 
incidents  of  life  are  not  brought  about  only  by  the  dramatic 
agencies  of  others,  but  also  by  our  own  reasonings  and  habits 
of  thought.  What  I  am  now  about  to  set  down  may  be  weari- 
some, but  it  is  not  episodical;  and  I  promise  that  it  shall  be 
the  last  didactic  conversation  in  the  work. 

One  day  Maltravers  was  relating  to  De  Montaigne  all  that 
he  had  been  planning  at  Burleigh  for  the  improvement  of  his 
peasantry,  and  all  his  theories  respecting  Labour-Schools  and 
Poor-rates,  when  De  Montaigne  abruptly  turned  round,  and 
said,  — 

"  You  have,  then,  really  found  that  in  your  own  little  village 
your  exertions  —  exertions  not  very  arduous,  not  demanding  a 
tenth  part  of  your  time  —  have  done  practical  good?" 

"  Certainly  I  think  so,"  replied  Maltravers,  in  some  surprise. 

"  And  yet  it  was  but  yesterday  that  you  declared  that  all 
the  labours  of  Philosophy  and  Legislation  were  labours  vain; 
their  benefits  equivocal  and  uncertain ;  that  as  the  sea,  where 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES.  267 

it  loses  in  one  place,  gains  in  another,  so  civilization  only 
partially  profits  us,  stealing  away  one  virtue  while  it  yields 
another,  and  leaving  the  large  proportions  of  good  and  evil 
eternally  the  same." 

"  True ;  but  I  never  said  that  man  might  not  relieve  indi- 
viduals by  individual  exertion :  though  he  cannot  by  abstract 
theories  —  nay,  even  by  practical  action  in  the  wide  circle  — 
benefit  the  mass." 

"Do  you  not  employ  on  behalf  of  individuals  the  same 
moral  agencies  that  wise  legislation  or  sound  philosophy 
would  adopt  towards  the  multitude?  For  example,  you  find 
that  the  children  of  your  village  are  happier,  more  orderly, 
more  obedient,  promise  to  be  wiser  and  better  men  in  their 
own  station  of  life,  from  the  new,  and,  I  grant,  excellent  sys- 
tem of  school  discipline  and  teaching  that  you  have  estab- 
lished. What  you  have  done  in  one  village,  why  should  not 
legislation  do  throughout  a  kingdom?  Again,  you  find  that, 
by  simply  holding  out  hope  and  emulation  to  industry,  by 
making  stern  distinctions  between  the  energetic  and  the  idle, 
the  independent  exertion  and  the  pauper-mendicancy,  you 
have  found  a  lever  by  which  you  have  literally  moved  and 
shifted  the  little  world  around  you.  But  what  is  the  differ- 
ence here  between  the  rules  of  a  village  lord  and  the  laws  of  a 
wise  legislature?  The  moral  feelings  you  have  appealed  to 
exist  universally,  the  moral  remedies  you  have  practised  axe 
as  open  to  legislation  as  to  the  individual  proprietor." 

"  Yes ;  but  when  you  apply  to  a  nation  the  same  principles 
which  regenerate  a  village,  new  counterbalancing  principles 
arise.  If  I  give  education  to  my  peasants,  I  send  them  into 
the  world  with  advantages  superior  to  their  fellows,  —  ad- 
vantages which,  not  being  common  to  their  class,  enable  them 
to  outstrip  their  fellows.  But  if  this  education  were  univer- 
sal to  the  whole  tribe,  no  man  would  have  an  advantage  supe- 
rior to  the  others ;  the  knowledge  they  would  have  acquired 
being  shared  by  all,  would  leave  all  as  they  now  are,  hewers 
of  wood  and  drawers  of  water:  the  principle  of  individual 
hope,  which  springs  from  knowledge,  would  soon  be  baffled 
by  the  vast  competition  that  universal  knowledge  would  pro- 


268  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

duce.  Thus  by  the  universal  improvement  would  be  engen- 
dered a  universal  discontent. 

"  Take  a  broader  view  of  the  subject.  Advantages  given  to 
the  few  around  me  —  superior  wages,  lighter  toils,  a  greater 
sense  of  the  dignity  of  man  —  are  not  productive  of  any  change 
in  society.  Give  these  advantages  to  the  whole  mass  of  the 
labouring  classes,  and  what  in  the  small  orbit  is  the  desire  of 
the  individual  to  rise  becomes  in  the  large  circumference  the 
desire  of  the  class  to  rise;  hence  social  restlessness,  social 
change,  revolution,  and  its  hazards.  For  revolutions  are  pro- 
duced but  by  the  aspirations  of  one  order,  and  the  resistance 
of  the  other.  Consequently,  legislative  improvement  differs 
widely  from  individual  amelioration ;  the  same  principle,  the 
same  agency,  that  purifies  the  small  body,  becomes  destruc- 
tive when  applied  to  the  large  one.  Apply  the  flame  to  the 
log  on  the  hearth,  or  apply  it  to  the  forest,  is  there  no  dis- 
tinction in  the  result?  The  breeze  that  freshens  the  fountain 
passes  to  the  ocean,  current  impels  current,  wave  urges  wave, 
and  the  breeze  becomes  the  storm." 

"Were  there  truth  in  this  train  of  argument,"  replied  De 
Montaigne,  "had  we  ever  abstained  from  communicating  to 
the  Multitude  the  enjoyments  and  advantages  of  the  Few,  had 
we  shrunk  from  the  good,  because  the  good  is  a  parent  of  the 
change  and  its  partial  ills,  what  now  would  be  society?  Is 
there  no  difference  in  collective  happiness  and  virtue  between 
the  painted  Picts  and  the  Druid  worship,  and  the  glorious 
harmony,  light,  and  order  of  the  great  English  nation?" 

"The  question  is  popular,"  said  Mai tra vers,  with  a  smile; 
"  and  were  you  my  opponent  in  an  election,  would  be  cheered 
on  any  hustings  in  the  kingdom.  But  I  have  lived  among 
savage  tribes,  —  savage,  perhaps,  as  the  race  that  resisted 
Caesar;  and  their  happiness  seems  to  me,  not  perhaps  the 
same  as  that  of  the  few  whose  sources  of  enjoyment  are 
numerous,  refined,  and,  save  by  their  own  passions,  unal- 
loyed; but  equal  to  that  of  the  mass  of  men  in  States  the 
most  civilized  and  advanced.  The  artisans,  crowded  together 
in  the  fetid  air  of  factories,  with  physical  ills  gnawing  at  the 
core  of  the  constitution,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave;  drudg- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  269 

ing  on  from  dawn  to  sunset  and  flying  for  recreation  to  the 
dread  excitement  of  the  dram-shop,  or  the  wild  and  vain 
hopes  of  political  fanaticism,  —  are  not  in  my  eyes  happier 
than  the  wild  Indians  with  hardy  frames  and  calm  tempers, 
seasoned  to  the  privations  for  which  you  pity  them,  and  un- 
cursed  with  desires  of  that  better  state  never  to  be  theirs. 
The  Arab  in  his  desert  has  seen  all  the  luxuries  of  the  pasha 
in  his  harem ;  but  he  envies  them  not.  He  is  contented  with 
his  barb,  his  tent,  his  desolate  sands,  and  his  spring  of  re- 
freshing water. 

"  Are  we  not  daily  told,  do  not  our  priests  preach  it  from 
their  pulpits,  that  the  cottage  shelters  happiness  equal  to  that 
within  the  palace?  Yet  what  the  distinction  between  the 
peasant  and  the  prince,  differing  from  that  between  the  peas- 
ant and  the  savage?  There  are  more  enjoyments  and  more 
privations  in  the  one  than  in  the  other;  but  if,  in  the  latter 
case,  the  enjoyments,  though  fewer,  be  more  keenly  felt,  —  if 
the  privations,  though  apparently  sharper,  fall  upon  duller 
sensibilities  and  hardier  frames,  — your  gauge  of  proportion 
loses  all  its  value.  Nay,  in  civilization  there  is  for  the  mul- 
titude an  evil  that  exists  not  in  the  savage  state.  The  poor 
man  sees  daily  and  hourly  all  the  vast  disparities  produced  by 
civilized  society;  and  reversing  the  divine  parable,  it  is  Laza- 
rus who  from  afar,  and  from  the  despondent  pit,  looks  upon 
Dives  in  the  lap  of  Paradise:  therefore,  his  privations,  his 
sufferings,  are  made  more  keen  by  comparison  with  the  luxu- 
ries of  others.  Not  so  in  the  desert  and  the  forest.  There 
but  small  distinctions,  and  those  softened  by  immemorial  and 
hereditary  usage  —  that  has  in  it  the  sanctity  of  religion  — 
separate  the  savage  from  his  chief.  The  fact  is,  that  in  civil- 
ization we  behold  a  splendid  aggregate,  —  literature  and 
science,  wealth  and  luxury,  commerce  and  glory;  but  we  see 
not  the  million  victims  crushed  beneath  the  wheels  of  the 
machine,  —  the  health  sacrificed,  the  board  breadless,  the  jails 
filled,  the  hospitals  reeking,  the  human  life  poisoned  in  every 
spring,  and  poured  forth  like  water!  Neither  do  we  remember 
all  the  steps,  marked  by  desolation,  crime,  and  bloodshed,  by 
which  this  barren  summit  has  been  reached.     Take  the  his- 


270  ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

tory  of  any  civilized  state,  —  England,  France,  Spain  before 
she  rotted  back  into  second  childhood,  the  Italian  Eepublics, 
the  Greek  Commonwealths,  the  Empress  of  the  Seven  Hills  — 
what  struggles,  what  persecutions,  what  crimes,  what  mas- 
sacres! Where,  in  the  page  of  history,  shall  we  look  back 
and  say,  '  Here  improvement  has  diminished  the  sum  of 
evil '  ?  Extend,  too,  your  scope  beyond  the  State  itself :  each 
State  has  won  its  acquisitions  by  the  woes  of  others.  Spain 
springs  above  the  Old  World  on  the  blood-stained  ruins  of 
the  New ;  and  the  groans  and  the  gold  of  Mexico  produce  the 
splendours  of  the  Fifth  Charles ! 

"Behold  England,  the  wise,  the  liberal,  the  free  England 
—  through  what  struggles  she  has  passed ;  and  is  she  yet  con- 
tented? The  sullen  oligarchy  of  the  Normans;  our  own  crim- 
inal invasions  of  Scotland  and  France ;  the  plundered  people, 
the  butchered  kings;  the  persecutions  of  the  Lollards;  the 
wars  of  Lancaster  and  York ;  the  new  dynasty  of  the  Tudors, 
that  at  once  put  back  Liberty,  and  put  forward  Civilization ! 
the  Eeformation,  cradled  in  the  lap  of  a  hideous  despot,  and 
nursed  by  violence  and  rapine;  the  stakes  and  fires  of  Mary, 
and  the  craftier  cruelties  of  Elizabeth,  —  England,  strength- 
ened by  the  desolation  of  Ireland,  the  Civil  Wars,  the  reign 
of  hypocrisy,  followed  by  the  reign  of  naked  vice ;  the  nation 
that  beheaded  the  graceful  Charles  gaping  idly  on  the  scaffold 
of  the  lofty  Sidney;  the  vain  Revolution  of  1688,  which,  if  a 
jubilee  in  England,  was  a  massacre  in  Ireland;  the  bootless 
glories  of  Marlborough;  the  organized  corruption  of  Walpole, 
the  frantic  war  with  our  own  American  sons,  the  exhausting 
struggles  with  Napoleon ! 

"Well,  we  close  the  page;  we  say,  Lo!  a  thousand  years 
of  incessant  struggles  and  afflictions !  millions  have  perished, 
but  Art  has  survived;  our  boors  wear  stockings,  our  women 
drink  tea,  our  poets  read  Shakspeare,  and  our  astronomers 
improve  on  Newton!  Are  we  now  contented?  No!  more 
restless  than  ever.  New  classes  are  called  into  power;  new 
forms  of  government  insisted  on.  Still  the  same  catch- 
words, —  Liberty  here.  Religion  there ;  Order  with  one  fac- 
tion, Amelioration  with  the  other.     Where  is  the  goal,  and 


ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  271 

what  have  we  gained?  Books  are  written,  silks  are  woven, 
palaces  are  built,  — mighty  acquisitions  for  the  few  —  but  the 
peasant  is  a  peasant  still !  The  crowd  are  yet  at  the  bottom 
of  the  wheel ;  better  off,  you  say.  No,  for  they  are  not  more 
contented!  The  artisan  is  as  anxious  for  change  as  ever  the 
serf  was ;  and  the  steam-engine  has  its  victims  as  well  as  the 
sword. 

"Talk  of  legislation:  all  isolated  laws  pave  the  way  to 
wholesale  changes  in  the  form  of  government!  Emancipate 
Catholics,  and  you  open  the  door  to  democratic  principle, 
that  Opinion  should  be  free.  If  free  with  the  sectarian,  it 
should  be  free  with  the  elector.  The  Ballot  is  a  corollary 
from  the  Catholic  Kelief-bill.  Grant  the  Ballot,  and  the  new 
corollary  of  enlarged  suffrage.  Suffrage  enlarged  is  divided 
but  by  a  yielding  surface  (a  circle  widening  in  the  waters) 
from  universal  suffrage.  Universal  suffrage  is  Democracy. 
Is  Democracy  better  than  the  aristocratic  commonwealth? 
Look  at  the  Greeks,  who  knew  both  forms ;  are  they  agreed 
which  is  the  best?  Plato,  Thucydides,  Xenophon,  Aristo- 
phanes—  the  Dreamer,  the  Historian,  the  Philosophic  Man 
of  Action,  the  penetrating  Wit  —  have  no  ideals  in  Democ- 
racy. Algernon  Sidney,  the  martyr  of  liberty,  allows  no 
government  to  the  multitude.  Brutus  died  for  a  republic, 
but  a  republic  of  Patricians!  What  form  of  government  is 
then  the  best?  All  dispute,  the  wisest  cannot  agree.  The 
many  still  say  *  a  Republic ; '  yet,  as  you  yourself  will  allow, 
Prussia,  the  Despotism,  does  all  that  Republics  do.  Yes,  but 
a  good  despot  is  a  lucky  accident;  true,  but  a  just  and  benevo- 
lent Republic  is  as  yet  a  monster  equally  short-lived.  When 
the  People  have  no  other  tyrant,  their  own  public  opinion 
becomes  one.  No  secret  espionage  is  more  intolerable  to  a 
free  spirit  than  the  broad  glare  of  the  American  eye. 

"  A  rural  republic  is  but  a  patriarchal  tribe  —  no  emulation, 
no  glory;  peace  and  stagnation.  What  Englishman,  what 
Frenchman,  would  wish  to  be  a  Swiss?  A  commercial  repub- 
lic is  but  an  admirable  machine  for  making  money.  Is  man 
created  for  nothing  nobler  than  freighting  ships  and  speculat- 
ing on  silk  and  sugar?  In  fact,  there  is  no  certain  goal  in 
legislation;  we  go  on  colonizing  Utopia,  and  fighting  phan- 


272  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

toms  in  the  clouds.  Let  us  content  ourselves  with  injuring 
no  man,  and  doing  good  only  in  our  own  little  sphere.  Let 
us  leave  States  and  senates  to  fill  the  sieve  of  the  Danaides, 
and  roll  up  the  stone  of  Sisyphus." 

**  My  dear  friend, "  said  De  Montaigne,  *'  you  have  certainly 
made  the  most  of  an  argument,  which,  if  granted,  would  con- 
sign government  to  fools  and  knaves,  and  plunge  the  commu- 
nities of  mankind  into  the  Slough  of  Despond.  But  a  very 
commonplace  view  of  the  question  might  suffice  to  shake  your 
system.  Is  life,  mere  animal  life,  on  the  whole,  a  curse  or  a 
blessing?" 

"The  generality  of  men  in  all  countries,"  answered  Mal- 
travers,  "enjoy  existence,  and  apprehend  death;  were  it 
otherwise,  the  world  had  been  made  by  a  Fiend,  and  not  a 
God!" 

"Well,  then,  observe  how  the  progress  of  society  cheats 
the  grave!  In  great  cities,  where  the  effect  of  civilization 
must  be  the  most  visible,  the  diminution  of  mortality  in  a 
corresponding  ratio  with  the  increase  of  civilization  is  most 
remarkable.  In  Berlin,  from  the  year  1747  to  1755,  the 
annual  mortality  was  as  one  to  twenty-eight;  but  from  1816 
to  1822,  it  was  as  one  to  thirty-four!  You  ask  what  England 
has  gained  by  her  progress  in  the  arts?  I  will  answer  you  by 
her  bills  of  mortality.  In  London,  Birmingham,  and  Liver- 
pool, deaths  have  decreased  in  less  than  a  century  from  one 
to  twenty,  to  one  to  forty  (precisely  one-half!).  Again,  when- 
ever a  community  —  nay,  a  single  city,  decreases  in  civil- 
ization, and  in  its  concomitants,  activity  and  commerce,  its 
mortality  instantly  increases.  But  if  civilization  be  favour- 
able to  the  prolongation  of  life,  must  it  not  be  favourable  to 
all  that  blesses  life,  —  to  bodily  health,  to  mental  cheerful- 
ness, to  the  capacities  for  enjoyment?  And  how  much  more 
grand,  how  much  more  sublime,  becomes  the  prospect  of  gain, 
if  we  reflect  that,  to  each  life  thus  called  forth,  there  is  a 
soul,  a  destiny  beyond  the  grave,  multiplied  immortalities! 
What  an  apology  for  the  continued  progress  of  States !  But 
you  say  that,  however  we  advance,  we  continue  impatient  and 
dissatisfied:  can  you  really  suppose  that,  because  man  in  every 
state  is  discontented  with  his  lot,  there  is  no  difference  in  the 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  278 

degree  and  quality  of  his  discontent,  no  distinction  between 
pining  for  bread  and  longing  for  the  moon?  Desire  is  im- 
planted within  us,  as  the  very  principle  of  existence;  the 
physical  desire  fills  the  world,  and  the  moral  desire  improves 
it.  Where  there  is  desire,  there  must  be  discontent:  if  we 
are  satisfied  with  all  things,  desire  is  extinct.  But  a  certain 
degree  of  discontent  is  not  incompatible  with  happiness,  nay, 
it  has  happiness  of  its  own ;  what  happiness  like  hope,  — 
what  is  hope  but  desire?  The  European  serf,  whose  seigneur 
could  command  his  life,  or  insist  as  a  right  on  the  chastity  of 
his  daughter,  desires  to  better  his  condition.  God  has  com- 
passion on  his  state;  Providence  calls  into  action  the  ambi- 
tion of  leaders,  the  contests  of  faction,  the  movement  of  men's 
aims  and  passions :  a  change  passes  through  society  and  legis- 
lation, and  the  serf  becomes  free !  He  desires  still,  but  what? 
No  longer  personal  security,  no  longer  the  privileges  of  life 
and  health ;  but  higher  wages,  greater  comforts,  easier  justice 
for  diminished  wrongs.  Is  there  no  difference  in  the  quality 
of  that  desire?  Was  one  a  greater  torment  than  the  other 
is?  Rise  a  scale  higher:  a  new  class  is  created  —  the  Middle 
Class,  —  the  express  creature  of  Civilization.  Behold  the 
burgher  and  the  citizen,  and  still  struggling,  still  contending, 
still  desiring,  and  therefore  still  discontented.  But  the  dis- 
content does  not  prey  upon  the  springs  of  life:  it  is  the  discon- 
tent of  hope,  not  despair;  it  calls  forth  faculties,  energies,  and 
passions,  in  which  there  is  more  joy  than  sorrow.  It  is  this 
desire  which  makes  the  citizen  in  private  life  an  anxious 
father,  a  careful  master,  an  active,  and  therefore  not  an  un- 
happy, man.  You  allow  that  individuals  can  effect  individual 
good:  this  very  restlessness,  this  very  discontent  with  the  ex- 
act place  that  he  occupies,  makes  the  citizen  a  benefactor  in 
his  narrow  circle.  Commerce,  better  than  Charity,  feeds  the 
hungry  and  clothes  the  naked.  Ambition,  better  than  brute 
affection,  gives  education  to  our  children,  and  teaches  them 
the  love  of  industry,  the  pride  of  independence,  the  respect 
for  others  and  themselves ! 

"In  other  words,  a  deference  to  such  qualities  as  can  best 
fit  them  to  get  on  in  the  world,  and  make  the  most  money ! " 

18 


274  ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Take  that  view  if  you  will;  but  the  wiser,  the  more  civil- 
ized the  State,  the  worse  chances  for  the  rogue  to  get  on! 
There  may  be  some  art,  some  hypocrisy,  some  avarice,  —  nay, 
some  hardness  of  heart,  —  in  paternal  example  and  profes- 
sional tuition.  But  what  are  such  sober  infirmities  to  the 
vices  that  arise  from  defiance  and  despair?  Your  savage  has 
his  virtues,  but  they  are  mostly  physical,  —  fortitude,  absti- 
nence, patience :  mental  and  moral  virtues  must  be  numerous 
or  few,  in  proportion  to  the  range  of  ideas  and  the  exigencies 
of  social  life.  With  the  savage,  therefore,  they  must  be  fewer 
than  with  civilized  men;  and  they  are  consequently  limited 
to  those  simple  and  rude  elements  which  the  safety  of  his 
state  renders  necessary  to  him.  He  is  usually  hospitable; 
sometimes  honest.  But  vices  are  necessary  to  his  existence 
as  well  as  virtues :  he  is  at  war  with  a  tribe  that  may  destroy 
his  own ;  and  treachery  without  scruple,  cruelty  without  re- 
morse, are  essential  to  him;  he  feels  their  necessity,  and  calls 
them  virtues  /  Even  the  half -civilized  man,  the  Arab  whom 
you  praise,  imagines  he  has  a  necessity  for  your  money ;  and 
his  robberies  become  virtues  to  him.  But  in  civilized  States, 
vices  are  at  least  not  necessary  to  the  existence  of  the  major- 
ity; they  are  not,  therefore,  worshipped  as  virtues.  Society 
unites  against  them;  treachery,  robbery,  massacre,  are  not 
essential  to  the  strength  or  safety  of  the  community:  they 
exist,  it  is  true,  but  they  are  not  cultivated,  but  punished. 
The  thief  in  St.  Giles's  has  the  virtues  of  your  savage:  he  is 
true  to  his  companions,  he  is  brave  in  danger,  he  is  patient  in 
privation;  he  practises  the  virtues  necessary  to  the  bonds  of 
his  calling  and  the  tacit  laws  of  his  vocation.  He  might  have 
made  an  admirable  savage :  but  surely  the  mass  of  civilized 
men  are  better  than  the  thief?  " 

Maltravers  was  struck,  and  paused  a  little  before  he  replied; 
and  then  he  shifted  his  ground.  "  But  at  least  all  our  laws, 
all  our  efforts,  must  leave  the  multitude  in  every  State  con- 
demned to  a  labour  that  deadens  intellect,  and  a  poverty  that 
embitters  life." 

"  Supposing  this  were  true,  still  there  are  multitudes  besides 
the  multitude.     In  each  State  Civilization  produces  a  middle 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  275 

class,  more  numerous  to-day  than  the  whole  peasantry  of  a 
thousand  years  ago.  Would  Movement  and  Progress  be  with- 
out their  divine  uses,  even  if  they  limited  their  effect  to  the 
production  of  such  a  class?  Look  also  to  the  effect  of  art, 
and  refinement,  and  just  laws,  in  tTie  wealthier  and  higher 
classes.  See  how  their  very  habits  of  life  tend  to  increase 
the  sum  of  enjoyment ;  see  the  mighty  activity  that  their  very 
luxury,  the  very  frivolity  of  their  pursuits,  create!  ^Vithout 
an  aristocracy,  would  there  have  been  a  middle  class?  With- 
out a  middle  class,  would  there  ever  have  been  an  interposi- 
tion between  lord  and  slave?  Before  commerce  produces  a 
middle  class,  Religion  creates  one.  The  Priesthood,  what- 
ever its  errors,  was  the  curb  to  Power.  But,  to  return  to  the 
multitude,  —  you  say  that  in  all  times  they  are  left  the  same. 
Is  it  so?  I  come  to  statistics  again:  I  find  that  not  only  civil- 
ization, but  liberty,  has  a  prodigious  effect  upon  human  life. 
It  is,  as  it  were,  by  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  that  lib- 
erty is  so  passionately  desired  by  the  multitude.  A  negro 
slave,  for  instance,  dies  annually  as  one  to  five  or  six,  but  a 
free  African  in  the  English  service  only  as  one  to  thirty-five! 
Freedom  is  not,  therefore,  a  mere  abstract  dream,  a  beautiful 
name,  a  Platonic  aspiration :  it  is  interwoven  with  the  most 
practical  of  all  blessings,  —  life  itself !  And  can  you  say 
fairly  that  by  laws  labour  cannot  be  lightened  and  poverty 
diminished?  We  have  granted  already  that  since  there  are 
degrees  in  discontent,  there  is  a  difference  between  the  peas- 
ant and  the  serf :  how  know  you  what  the  peasant  a  thousand 
years  hence  may  be?  Discontented,  you  will  say,  — still  dis- 
contented. Yes;  but  if  he  had  not  been  discontented,  he 
would  have  been  a  serf  still !  Par  from  quelling  this  desire 
to  better  himself,  we  ought  to  hail  it  as  the  source  of  his  per- 
petual progress.  That  desire  to  him  is  often  like  imagination 
to  the  poet,  it  transports  him  into  the  Future  — 

" '  Crura  sonant  ferro,  sed  canit  inter  opus.' 

It  is,  indeed,  the  gradual  transformation  from  the  desire  of 
Despair  to  the  desire  of  Hope,  that  makes  the  difference 
between  man  and  man,  between  misery  and  bliss." 


276  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"And  then  comes  the  crisis.  Hope  ripens  into  deeds;  the 
stormy  revolution,  perhaps  the  armed  despotism;  the  relapse 
into  the  second  infancy  of  States !  " 

"  Can  we,  with  new  agencies  at  our  command,  new  morality, 
new  wisdom,  predicate  of  the  Future  by  the  Past?  In  ancient 
States,  the  mass  were  slaves ;  civilization  and  freedom  rested 
with  oligarchies;  in  Athens  twenty  thousand  citizens,  four 
hundred  thousand  slaves!  How  easy  decline,  degeneracy, 
overthrow  in  such  States,  —  a  handful  of  soldiers  and  philos- 
ophers without  a  People !  Now  we  have  no  longer  barriers  to 
the  circulation  of  the  blood  of  States.  The  absence  of  slavery, 
the  existence  of  the  Press ;  the  healthful  proportions  of  king- 
doms, neither  too  confined  nor  too  vast,  have  created  new 
hopes,  which  history  cannot  destroy.  As  a  proof,  look  to  all 
late  revolutions:  in  England  the  Civil  Wars,  the  Reforma- 
tion, —  in  France  her  awful  Satui-nalia,  her  military  despot- 
ism! Has  either  nation  fallen  back?  The  deluge  passes, 
and,  behold,  the  face  of  things  more  glorious  than  before! 
Compare  the  French  of  to-day  with  the  French  of  the  old 
rigime.  You  are  silent;  well,  and  if  in  all  States  there  is 
ever  some  danger  of  evil  in  their  activity,  is  that  a  reason 
why  you  are  to  lie  down  inactive ;  why  you  are  to  leave  the 
crew  to  battle  for  the  helm?  How  much  may  individuals  by 
the  diffusion  of  their  own  thoughts  in  letters  or  in  action 
regulate  the  order  of  vast  events,  —  now  prevent,  now  soften, 
now  animate,  now  guide !  And  is  a  man  to  whom  Providence 
and  Fortune  have  imparted  such  prerogatives  to  stand  aloof, 
because  he  can  neither  foresee  the  Future  nor  create  Perfec- 
tion? And  you  talk  of  no  certain  and  definite  goal!  How 
know  we  that  there  is  a  certain  and  definite  goal,  even  in 
heaven?  How  know  we  that  excellence  may  not  be  illimita- 
ble? Enough  that  we  improve,  that  we  proceed.  Seeing  in 
the  great  design  of  earth  that  benevolence  is  an  attribute  of 
the  Designer,  let  us  leave  the  rest  to  Posterity  and  to  God." 

"  You  have  disturbed  many  of  my  theories,"  said  Maltravers, 
candidly ;  "  and  I  will  reflect  on  our  conversation ;  but,  after  all, 
is  every  man  to  aspire  to  influence  others;  to  throw  his  opinion 
into  the  great  scales  in  which  human  destinies  are  weighed? 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  277 

Private  life  is  not  criminal.  It  is  no  virtue  to  write  a  book, 
or  to  make  a  speech.  Perhaps,  I  should  be  as  well  engaged 
in  returning  to  my  country  village,  looking  at  my  schools, 
and  wrangling  with  the  parish  overseers  —  " 

"Ah,"  interrupted  the  Frenchman,  laughing;  "if  I  have 
driven  you  to  this  point,  I  will  go  no  further.  Every  state 
of  life  has  its  duties ;  every  man  must  be  himself  the  judge  of 
what  he  is  most  fit  for.  It  is  quite  enough  that  he  desires  to 
be  active,  and  labours  to  be  useful ;  that  he  acknowledges  the 
precept,  *  Never  to  be  weary  in  well-doing. '  The  divine  appe- 
tite once  fostered,  let  it  select  its  own  food.  But  the  man 
who,  after  fair  trial  of  his  capacities,  and  with  all  opportunity 
for  their  full  development  before  him,  is  convinced  that  he 
has  faculties  which  private  life  cannot  wholly  absorb,  must 
not  repine  that  Human  Nature  is  not  perfect,  when  he  refuses 
even  to  exercise  the  gifts  he  himself  possesses." 

Now  these  arguments  have  been  very  tedious;  in  some 
places  they  have  been  old  and  trite;  in  others  they  may 
appear  too  much  to  appertain  to  the  abstract  theory  of  first 
principles.  Yet  from  such  arguments,  pro  and  con,  unless 
I  greatly  mistake,  are  to  be  derived  corollaries  equally  prac- 
tical and  sublime,  — the  virtue  of  Action,  the  obligations  of 
Genius,  and  the  philosophy  that  teaches  us  to  confide  in  the 
destinies,  and  labour  in  the  service,  of  mankind. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  'll  tell  yoa  presently  her  very  picture  ; 
Stay — yes,  it  is  so  —  Lelia. 

The  Captain,  Act  v.  sc.  1. 

Maltravers  had  not  shrunk  into  a  system  of  false  phil- 
osophy from  wayward  and  sickly  dreams,  from  resolute 
self-delusion;  on  the  contrary,  his  errors  rested  on  his  con- 
victions: the  convictions  disturbed,  the  errors  were  rudely 
shaken. 


278  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

But  when  his  mind  began  restlessly  to  turn  once  more 
towards  the  duties  of  active  life;  when  he  recalled  all  the 
former  drudgeries  and  toils  of  political  conflict,  or  the  wear- 
ing fatigues  of  literature,  with  its  small  enmities,  its  false 
friendships,  and  its  meagre  and  capricious  rewards,  —  ah, 
then,  indeed,  he  shrank  in  dismay  from  the  thoughts  of  the 
solitude  at  home !  No  lips  to  console  in  dejection,  no  heart 
to  sympathize  in  triumph,  no  love  within  to  counterbalance 
the  hate  without,  —  and  the  best  of  man,  his  household  affec- 
tions, left  to  wither  away,  or  to  waste  themselves  on  ideal 
images,  or  melancholy  remembrance. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  generally  remarked  (contrary  to  a  com- 
mon notion),  that  the  men  who  are  most  happy  at  home  are 
the  most  active  abroad.  The  animal  spirits  are  necessary  to 
healthful  action;  and  dejection  and  the  sense  of  solitude  will 
turn  the  stoutest  into  dreamers.  The  hermit  is  the  antipodes 
of  the  citizen;  and  no  gods  animate  and  inspire  us  like  the 
Lares. 

One  evening,  after  an  absence  from  Paris  of  nearly  a  fort- 
night, at  De  Montaigne's  villa,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  St. 
Cloud,  Maltravers,  who,  though  he  no  longer  practised  the 
art,  was  not  less  fond  than  heretofore  of  music,  was  seated  in 
Madame  de  Ventadour's  box  at  the  Italian  Opera;  and  Valerie, 
who  was  above  all  the  woman's  jealousy  of  beauty,  was  expa- 
tiating with  great  warmth  of  eulogium  upon  the  charms  of  a 

young  English  lady  whom  she  had  met  at  Lady  G 's  the 

preceding  evening. 

"She  is  just  my  beau-ideal  of  the  true  English  beauty," 
said  Valerie:  "it  is  not  only  the  exquisite  fairness  of  the 
complexion,  nor  the  eyes  so  purely  blue,  —  which  the  dark 
lashes  relieve  from  the  coldness  common  to  the  light  eyes  of 
the  Scotch  and  German,  —  that  are  so  beautifully  national, 
but  the  simplicity  of  manner,  the  unconsciousness  of  admira- 
tion, the  mingled  modesty  and  sense  of  the  expression.  No, 
I  have  seen  women  more  beautiful,  but  I  never  saw  one  more 
lovely:  you  are  silent;  I  expected  some  burst  of  patriotism 
in  return  for  my  compliment  to  your  countrywoman !  " 

"  But  I  am  so  absorbed  in  that  wonderful  Pasta  —  " 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  279 

"You  are  no  such  thing;  your  thoughts  are  far  away.  But 
cau  you  tell  me  anything  about  my  fair  stranger  and  her 
friends?  In  the  first  place,  there  is  a  Lord  Doltimore,  whom 
I  knew  before  —  you  need  say  nothing  about  him ;  in  the  next 
there  is  his  new  married  bride,  handsome,  dark  —  but  you  are 
not  well ! " 

"  It  was  the  draught  from  the  door ;  go  on,  I  beseech  you, 
the  young  lady,  the  friend,  her  name?" 

"  Her  name  I  do  not  remember ;  but  she  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  one  of  your  statesmen.  Lord  Vargrave;  the  mar- 
riage is  broken  off  —  I  know  not  if  that  be  the  cause  of  a  cer- 
tain melancholy  in  her  countenance,  —  a  melancholy  I  am  sure 
not  natural  to  its  Hebe-like  expression.  But  who  have  just 
entered  the  opposite  box?  Ah,  Mr.  Maltravers,  do  look, 
there  is  the  beautiful  English  girl ! " 

And  Maltravers  raised  his  eyes,  and  once  more  beheld  the 
countenance  of  Evelyn  Cameron! 


BOOK    VII. 


AvKriffts  irfvis  \6yuy 

^Afle.  —  Sophocles  :  (Ed.  Tyr.  681. 

Words  of  dark  import  gave  suspicion  birth.  —  Pottbk. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Lace.    Is  the  wind  there  ' 
That  makes  for  me. 
Isdb.     Come,  I  forget  a  business. 

Wit  without  Money. 

Lord  Vargrave's  travelling-carriage  was  at  his  door,  and 
he  himself  was  putting  on  his  greatcoat  in  his  library,  when 
Lord  Saxingham  entered. 

*'  What!  you  are  going  into  the  country?  " 

"Yes;  I  wrote  you  word,  — to  see  Lisle  Court." 

"Ay,  true;  I  had  forgot.  Somehow  or  other  my  memory 
is  not  so  good  as  it  was.  But,  let  me  see,  Lisle  Court  is  in 
shire.     Why,  you  will  pass  within  ten  miles  of  C ." 

"C !     Shall  I?    I  am  not  much  versed  in  the  geography 

of  England,  —  never  learned  it  at  school.  As  for  Poland, 
Kamschatka,  Mexico,  Madagascar,  or  any  other  place  as  to 
which  knowledge  would  be  useful,  I  have  every  inch  of  the 

way  at  my  finger's  end.     But  a  propos  of  C ,  it  is  the 

town  in  which  my  late  uncle  made  his  fortune." 

"Ah,  so   it  is.     I   recollect  you  were  to  have  stood  for 

C ,  but  gave  it  up  to  Staunch;   very  handsome  in  you. 

Have  you  any  interest  there  still?  " 

"I  think  my  ward  has  some  tenants,  — a  street  or  two,  — 
one  called  Richard  Street,  and  the  other  Templeton  Place.     I 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  281 

had  intended  some  weeks  ago  to  have  gone  down  there,  and 
seen  what  interest  was  still  left  to  our  family;  but  Staunch 
himself  told  me  that  C was  a  sure  card." 

"So  he  thought;  but  he  has  been  with  me  this  morning  in 
great  alarm :  he  now  thinks  he  shall  be  thrown  out.  A  Mr. 
Winsley,  who  has  a  great  deal  of  interest  there,  and  was  a 

supporter  of  his,  hangs  back  on  account  of  the question. 

This  is  unlucky,  as  Staunch  is  quite  with  us  ;  and  if  he  were 
to  rat  now  it  would  be  most  unfortunate." 

"Winsley!  Winsley!  —  my  poor  uncle's  right-hand  man. 
A  great  brewer,  —  always  chairman  of  the  Templeton  Com- 
mittee,    I  know  the  name,  though  I  never  saw  the  man." 

"If  you  could  take  C in  your  way?" 

"To  be  sure.  Staunch  must  not  be  lost.  We  cannot  throw 
away  a  single  vote,  much  more  one  of  such  weighty  —  eighteen 

stone  at  the  least!     I  '11  stop  at  C on  pretence  of  seeing 

after  my  ward's  houses,  and  have  a  quiet  conference  with  Mr. 
Winsley.  Hem!  Peers  must  not  interfere  in  elections,  eh? 
Well,  good-by:  take  care  of  yourself.  I  shall  be  back  in  a 
week,  1  hope,  — perhaps  less." 

In  a  minute  more  Lord  Vargrave  and  Mr.  George  Frederick 
Augustus  Howard,  a  slim  young  gentleman  of  high  birth  and 
connections,  but  who,  having,  as  a  portionless  cadet,  his  own 
way  to  make  in  the  world,  condescended  to  be  his  lordship's 
private  secretary,  were  rattling  over  the  streets  the  first  stage 
toC . 

It  was  late  at  night  when  Lord  Vargrave  arrived  at  the  head 
inn  of  that  grave  and  respectable  cathedral  city,  in  which 
once  Richard  Templeton,  Esq., — saint,  banker,  and  politi- 
cian, —  had  exercised  his  dictatorial  sway.  "  Sic  transit 
gloria  mundi !  "  As  he  warmed  his  hands  by  the  fire  in  the 
large  wainscoted  apartment  into  which  he  was  shown,  his  eye 
met  a  full  length  engraving  of  his  uncle,  with  a  roll  of  papers 
in  his  hand,  —  meant  for  a  parliamentary  bill  for  the  turnpike 

trusts  in  the  neighbourhood  of  C .     The  sight  brought 

back  his  .  recollections  of  that  pious  and  saturnine  relation, 
and  insensibly  the  minister's  thoughts  flew  to  his  death-bed, 
and  to  the  strange  secret  which  in  that  last  hour  he  had 


282  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

revealed  to  Lumley,  —  a  secret  which  had  done  much  in  deep- 
ening Lord  Vargrave's  contempt  for  the  forms  and  conven- 
tionalities of  decorous  life.  And  here  it  may  be  mentioned 
—  though  in  the  course  of  this  volume  a  penetrating  reader 
may  have  guessed  as  much  —  that,  whatever  that  secret,  it 
did  not  refer  expressly  or  exclusively  to  the  late  lord's  sin- 
gular and  ill-assorted  marriage.  Upon  that  point  much  was 
still  left  obscure  to  arouse  Lumley's  curiosity,  had  he  been  a 
man  whose  curiosity  was  very  vivacious.  But  on  this  he  felt 
but  little  interest.  He  knew  enough  to  believe  that  no  further 
information  could  benefit  himself  personally;  why  should  he 
trouble  his  head  with  what  never  would  fill  his  pockets? 

An  audible  yawn  from  the  slim  secretary  roused  Lord  Var- 
grave  from  his  revery. 

"I  envy  you,  my  young  friend,"  said  he,  good-humouredly. 
"  It  is  a  pleasure  we  lose  as  we  grow  older,  —  that  of  being 
sleepy.  However,  *  to  bed, '  as  Lady  Macbeth  says.  Faith,  1 
don't  wonder  the  poor  devil  of  a  thane  was  slow  in  going  to 
bed  with  such  a  tigress.     Good-night  to  you." 


CHAPTER  II. 

Ma  fortune  va  prendre  une  face  nouvelle.^ 

Bacinb  .  Androm.,  Act  i.  so.  1  ■ 

The  next  morning  Vargrave  inquired  the  way  to  Mr. 
Winsley's,  and  walked  alone  to  the  house  of  the  brewer. 
The  slim  secretary  went  to  inspect  the  cathedral. 

Mr.  Winsley  was  a  little,  thickset  man,  with  a  civil  but 
blunt  electioneering  manner.  He  started  when  he  heard  Lord 
Vargrave's  name,  and  bowed  with  great  stiffness.  Vargrave 
saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was  some  cause  of  grudge  in  the 

1  "  My  fortune  is  about  to  take  a  turn." 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  28S 

mind  of  the  worthy  man;  nor  did  Mr.  Winsley  long  hesitate 
before  he  cleansed  his  bosom  of  its  perilous  stuff. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  honour,  my  lord:  I  don't  know  how 
to  account  for  it." 

"Why,  Mr.  Winsley,  your  friendship  with  my  late  uncle 
can,  perhaps,  sufficiently  explain  and  apologize  for  a  visit 
from  a  nephew  sincerely  attached  to  his  memory." 

"Humph!  I  certainly  did  do  all  in  my  power  to  promote 
Mr.  Templeton's  interests.  No  man,  I  may  say,  did  more; 
and  yet  I  don't  think  it  was  much  thought  of  the  moment  he 

turned  his  back  upon  the  electors  of  C .     Not  that  I  bear 

any  malice ;  I  am  well  to  do,  and  value  no  man's  favour,  —  no 
man's,  my  lord !  " 

"  You  amaze  me !  I  always  heard  my  poor  uncle  speak  of 
you  in  the  highest  terms." 

"Oh,  well,  it  don't  signify;  pray  say  no  more  of  it.  Can  I 
offer  your  lordship  a  glass  of  wine?" 

"  No,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you ;  but  we  really  must  set  this 
little  matter  right.     You  know  that  after  his  marriage  my 

uncle   never   revisited   C ;   and  that  shortly   before  his 

death  he  sold  the  greater  part  of  his  interest  in  this  city. 
His  young  wife,  I  suppose,  liked  the  neighbourhood  of  Lon- 
don; and  when  elderly  gentlemen  do  marry,  you  know  they 
are  no  longer  their  own  masters ;  but  if  you  had  ever  come  to 
Fulham  —  ah!  then,  indeed,  my  uncle  would  have  rejoiced 
to  see  his  old  friend." 

"Your  lordship  thinks  so,"  said  Mr.  Winsley  with  a  sar- 
donic smile.  "You  are  mistaken;  I  did  call  at  Fulham;  and 
though  I  sent  in  my  card.  Lord  Vargrave's  servant  (he  was 
then  My  Lord)  brought  back  word  that  his  lordship  was  not 
at  home." 

"But  that  must  have  been  true;  he  was  out,  you  may 
depend  on  it." 

"I  saw  him  at  the  window,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Winsley, 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Oh,  the  deuce !  I  'm  in  for  it,"  thought  Lumley.  —  "Very 
strange,  indeed!  but  how  can  you  account  for  it?  Ah,  per- 
haps the  health  of  Lady  Vargrave  —  she  was  so  very  delicate 


284  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

then,  and  my  poor  uncle  lived  for  her  —  you  know  that  he  left 
all  his  fortune  to  Miss  Cameron?  " 

"Miss  Cameron!     Who  is  she,  my  lord?" 

"  Why,  his  daughter-in-law ;  Lady  Vargrave  was  a  widow, 

—  a  Mrs.  Cameron." 

"  Mrs.  Cam  —  I  remember  now,  —  they  put  Cameron  in 
the  newspapers;  but  I  thought  it  was  a  mistake.  But,  per- 
haps "  (added  Winsley,  with  a  sneer  of  peculiar  malignity), 

—  "  perhaps,  when  your  worthy  uncle  thought  of  being  a  peer, 
he  did  not  like  to  have  it  known  that  he  married  so  much 
beneath  him." 

"  You  quite  mistake,  my  dear  sir ;  my  uncle  never  denied 
that  Mrs.  Cameron  was  a  lady  of  no  fortune  or  connections, 

—  widow  to  some  poor  Scotch  gentleman,  who  died  I  think 
in  India." 

"  He  left  her  very  ill  off,  poor  thing ;  but  she  had  a  great 
deal  of  merit,  and  worked  hard;  she  taught  my  girls  to 
play-" 

"Your  girls!  did  Mrs.  Cameron  ever  reside  in  C ?" 

"  To  be  sure ;  but  she  was  then  called  Mrs.  Butler  —  just  as 
pretty  a  name  to  my  fancy." 

"  You  must  make  a  mistake :  my  uncle  married  this  lady  in 
Devonshire." 

"Very  possibly,"  quoth  the  brewer,  doggedly.  "Mrs. 
Butler  left  the  town  with  her  little  girl  some  time  before 
Mr.  Templeton  married." 

"  Well,  you  are  wiser  than  I  am, "  said  Lumley,  forcing  a 
smile.  "  But  how  can  you  be  sure  that  Mrs.  Butler  and  Mrs. 
Cameron  are  one  and  the  same  person?  You  did  not  go  into 
the  house,  you  could  not  have  seen  Lady  Vargrave  "  (and  here 
Lumley  shrewdly  guessed  —  if  the  tale  were  true  —  at  the 
cause  of  his  uncle's  exclusion  of  his  old  acquaintance). 

"No!  but  I  saw  her  ladyship  on  the  lawn,"  said  Mr. 
Winsley,  with  another  sardonic  smile;  "and  I  asked  the 
porter  at  the  lodge  as  I  went  out  if  that  was  Lady  Vargrave, 
and  he  said,  *  yes. '     However,  my  lord,  bygones  are  bygones, 

—  T  bear  no  malice;  your  uncle  was  a  good  man:  and  if  he 
had  but  said  to  me,  *  Winsley,  don't  say  a  word  about  Mrs, 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  286 

Butler, '  he  might  have  reckoned  on  me  just  as  much  as  when 
in  his  elections  he  used  to  put  five  thousand  pounds  in  my 
hands,  and  say,  *  Winsley,  no  bribery,  —  it  is  wicked ;  let  this 
be  given  in  charity.'  Did  any  one  ever  know  how  that  money 
went?  Was  your  uncle  ever  accused  of  corruption?  But,  my 
lord,  surely  you  will  take  some  refreshment?  " 

"No,  indeed;  but  if  you  will  let  me  dine  with  you  to-mor- 
row, you  '11  oblige  me  much;  and,  whatever  my  uncle's  faults 
(and  latterly,  poor  man,  he  was  hardly  in  his  senses ;  what  a 
will  he  made!)  let  not  the  nephew  suffer  for  them.  Come, 
Mr.  Winsley,"  and  Lumley  held  out  his  hand  with  enchant-* 
ing  frankness,  "you  know  my  motives  are  disinterested;  I 
have  no  parliamentary  interest  to  serve,  we  have  no  constitu- 
ents for  our  Hospital  of  Incurables ;  and  —  oh !  that 's  right, 
—  we  're  friends,  I  see !  Now  I  miist  go  and  look  after  my 
ward's  houses.     Let  me  see,  the  agent's  name  is  —  is  —  " 

"Perkins,  I  think,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Winsley,  thoroughly 
softened  by  the  charm  of  Vargrave's  words  and  manner.  "Let 
me  put  on  my  hat,  and  show  you  his  house." 

"Will  you?  That's  very  kind;  give  me  all  the  election 
news  by  the  way  —  you  know  I  was  once  within  an  ace  of 
being  your  member." 

Vargrave  learned  from  his  new  friend  some  further  particu- 
lars relative  to  Mrs.  Butler's  humble  habits  and  homely  mode  of 

life  at  C ,  which  served  completely  to  explain  to  him  why 

his  proud  and  worldly  uncle  had  so  carefully  abstained  from 
all  intercourse  with  that  city,  and  had  prevented  the  nephew 
from  standing  for  its  vacant  representation.  It  seemed,  how- 
ever, that  Winsley  —  whose  resentment  was  not  of  a  very 
active  or  violent  kind  —  had  not  communicated  the  discovery 
he  had  made  to  his  fellow  townspeople;  but  had  contented 
himself  with  hints  and  aphorisms,  whenever  he  had  heard  the 
subject  of  Mr.  Templeton's  marriage  discussed,  which  had  led 
the  gossips  of  the  place  to  imagine  that  he  had  made  a  much 
worse  selection  than  he  really  had.  As  to  the  accuracy  of 
Winsley's  assertion,  Vargrave,  though  surprised  at  first,  had 
but  little  doubt  on  consideration,  especially  when  he  heard 
that  Mrs.   Butler's  principal  patroness  had  been  the   Mrs. 


286  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Leslie,  now  the  intimate  friend  of  Lady  Vargrave.  But  what 
had  been  the  career,  what  the  earlier  condition  and  struggles 
of  this  simple  and  interesting  creature?  With  her  appear- 
ance at  C ,  commenced  all  that  surmise  could  invent.    Not 

greater  was  the  mystery  that  wrapped  the  apparition  of  Manco 
Capac  by  the  lake  Titiaca,  than  that  which  shrouded  the  places 
and  the  trials  whence  the  lowly  teacher  of  music  had  emerged 
amidst  the  streets  of  C . 

Weary,  and  somewhat  careless,  of  conjecture.  Lord  Var- 
grave, in  dining  with  Mr.  Winsley,  turned  the  conversation 
upon  the  business  on  which  he  had  principally  undertaken  his 
journey,  —  namely,  the  meditated  purchase  of  Lisle  Court. 

"  I  myself  am  not  a  very  good  judge  of  landed  property, " 
said  Vargrave;  "I  wish  I  knew  of  an  experienced  surveyor 
to  look  over  the  farms  and  timber:  can  you  help  me  to  such 
a  one?" 

Mr.  Winsley  smiled,  and  glanced  at  a  rosy-cheeked  young 
lady,  who  simpered  and  turned  away.  "  I  think  my  daughter 
could  recommend  one  to  your  lordship,  if  she  dared." 

"Oh,  Pa!" 

"  I  see.  Well,  Miss  Winsley,  I  will  take  no  recommendation 
but  yours." 

Miss  Winsley  made  an  effort. 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  I  have  always  heard  Mr.  Eobert  Hobbs 
considered  very  clever  in  his  profession." 

"Mr.  Robert  Hobbs  is  my  man!  His  good  health  —  and  a 
fair  wife  to  him." 

Miss  Winsley  glanced  at  Mamma,  and  then  at  a  younger 
sister;  and  then  there  was  a  titter,  and  then  a  fluttering,  and 
then  a  rising,  and  Mr.  Winsley,  Lord  Vargrave,  and  the  slim 
secretary  were  left  alone. 

"Really,  my  lord,"  said  the  host,  resettling  himself,  and 
pushing  the  wine,  "  though  you  have  guessed  our  little  family 
arrangement,  and  I  have  some  interest  in  the  recommenda- 
tion, since  Margaret  will  be  Mrs.  Robert  Hobbs  in  a  few 
weeks,  yet  I  do  not  know  a  more  acute,  intelligent  young  man 
anywhere.  Highly  respectable,  with  an  independent  fortune; 
his  father  is  lately  dead,  and  made  at  least  thirty  thousand 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  287 

pounds  in  trade.  His  brother  Edward  is  also  dead;  so  he 
has  the  bulk  of  the  property,  and  he  follows  his  profes- 
sion merely  for  amusement.  He  would  consider  it  a  great 
honour." 

"And  where  does  he  live?" 

"Oh,  not  in  this  county, — a  long  way  off;  close  to ; 

but  it  is  all  in  your  lordship's  road.  A  very  nice  house  he 
has,  too.  I  have  known  his  family  since  I  was  a  boy;  it  is 
astonishing  how  his  father  improved  the  place,  —  it  was  a 
poor  little  lath-and-plaster  cottage  when  the  late  Mr.  Hobbs 
bought  it,  and  it  is  now  a  very  excellent  family  house." 

"  Well,  you  shall  give  me  the  address  and  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction, and  so  much  for  that  matter.  But  to  return  to  poli- 
tics ; "  and  here  Lord  Vargrave  ran  eloquently  on,  till  Mr. 
Winsley  thought  him  the  only  man  in  the  world  who  could 
save  the  country  from  that  utter  annihilation,  the  possibility 
of  which  he  had  never  even  suspected  before. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  add,  that,  on  wishing  Lord  Vargrave 
good-night,  Mr.  Winsley  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Your  lord- 
ship's friend,  Lord  Staunch,  need  be  under  no  apprehension, 
—  we  are  all  right !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

This  is  the  house,  sir.  —  Lovers  Pilgrimage,  Act  iv.  sc  2. 
Redeunt  Satamia  regna.^  —  Virgil. 

The  next  morning,  Lumley  and  his  slender  companion  were 
rolling  rapidly  over  the  same  road  on  which,  sixteen  years 
ago,  way-worn  and  weary,  Alice  Darvil  had  first  met  with 
Mrs.  Leslie;  they  were  talking  about  a  new  opera-dancer  as 
they  whirled  by  the  very  spot. 

*  "  A  former  state  of  things  returns." 


288  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  next  day, 
when  the  carriage  stopped  at  a  cast-iron  gate,  on  which  was 
inscribed  this  epigraph,  "Hobbs'  lodge  —  Ring  the  Bell." 

"A  snug  place  enough,"  said  Lord  Vargrave,  as  they  were 
waiting  the  arrival  of  the  footman  to  unbar  the  gate. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Howard.  " If  a  retired  Cit  could  be  trans- 
formed into  a  house,  such  is  the  house  he  would  be." 

Poor  Dale  Cottage,  — the  home  of  Poetry  and  Passion!  But 
change  visits  the  Commonplace  as  well  as  the  Romantic.  Since 
Alice  had  pressed  to  that  cold  grating  her  wistful  eyes,  time 
had  wrought  his  allotted  revolutions;  the  old  had  died,  the 
young  grown  up.  Of  the  children  playing  on  the  lawn,  death 
had  claimed  some,  and  marriage  others,  —  and  the  holiday  of 
youth  was  gone  for  all. 

The  servant  opened  the  gate.  Mr.  Robert  Hobbs  was  at 
home ;  he  had  friends  with  him,  —  he  was  engaged ;  Lord 
Vargrave  sent  in  his  card,  and  the  introductory  letter  from 
Mr.  Winsley.  In  two  seconds,  these  missives  brought  to  the 
gate  Mr.  Robert  Hobbs  himself,  a  smart  young  man,  with  a 
black  stock,  red  whiskers,  and  an  eye-glass  pendant  to  a  hair- 
chain  which  was  possibly  a  gage  d* amour  from  Miss  Margaret 
Winsley. 

A  profusion  of  bows,  compliments,  apologies,  etc.,  the 
carriage  drove  up  the  sweep,  and  Lord  Vargrave  descended, 
and  was  immediately  ushered  into  Mr.  Hobbs's  private  room. 
The  slim  secretary  followed,  and  sat  silent,  melancholy,  and 
upright,  while  the  peer  affably  explained  his  wants  and  wishes 
to  the  surveyor. 

Mr.  Hobbs  was  well  acquainted  with  the  locality  of  Lisle 
Court,  which  was  little  more  than  thirty  miles  distant:  he 
should  be  proud  to  accompany  Lord  Vargrave  thither  the  next 
morning.     But,  might  he  venture,  might  he  dare,  might  he 

presume  —  a  gentleman  who  lived  at  the  town  of  was  to 

dine  with  him  that  day;  a  gentleman  of  the  most  profound 
knowledge  of  agricultural  affairs;  a  gentleman  who  knew 
every  farm,  almost  every  acre,  belonging  to  Colonel  Mal- 
travers;  if  his  lordship  could  be  induced  to  waive  ceremony, 
and  dine  with  Mr.  Hobbs,  it  might  be  really  useful  to  meet 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  289 

this  gentleman.  The  slim  secretary,  who  was  very  hungry, 
and  who  thought  he  sniffed  an  un(;ommonly  savoury  smell, 
looked  up  from  his  boots.     Lord  Vargrave  smiled. 

"My  young  friend  here  is  too  great  an  admirer  of  Mrs. 
Hobbs  —  who  is  to  be  —  not  to  feel  anxious  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  any  member  of  the  family  she  is  to  enter." 

Mr.  George  Frederick  Augustus  Howard  blushed  indignant 
refutation  of  the  calumnious  charge.    Vargrave  continued,  — 

"As  for  me,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  meet  any  friends  of 
yours,  and  am  greatly  obliged  for  your  consideration.  We 
may  dismiss  the  postboys,  Howard;  and  what  time  shall  we 
summon  them,  — ten  o'clock?" 

"  If  your  lordship  would  condescend  to  accept  a  bed,  we  can 
accommodate  your  lordship  and  this  gentleman,  and  start  at 
any  hour  in  the  morning  that  —  " 

"So  be  it,"  interrupted  Vargrave.  "You  speak  like  a  man 
of  business.  Howard,  be  so  kind  as  to  order  the  horses  for 
six  o'clock  to-morrow.     We  '11  breakfast  at  Lisle  Court." 

This  matter  settled.  Lord  Vargrave  and  Mr.  Howard  were 
shown  into  their  respective  apartments.  Travelling  dresses 
were  changed,  the  dinner  put  back,  and  the  fish  over-boiled ; 
but  what  mattered  common  fish,  when  Mr.  Hobbs  had  just 
caught  such  a  big  one?  Of  what  consequence  he  should  be 
henceforth  and  ever!  A  peer,  a  minister,  a  stranger  to  the 
county,  —  to  come  all  this  way  to  consult  him !  to  be  his 
guest!  to  be  shown  off,  and  patted,  and  trotted  out  before  all 
the  rest  of  the  company!  Mr.  Hobbs  was  a  made  man! 
Careless  of  all  this,  ever  at  home  with  any  one,  and  de- 
lighted, perhaps,  to  escape  a  tete-a-tete  with  Mr.  Howard  in 
a  strange  inn,  Vargrave  lounged  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
was  formally  presented  to  the  expectant  family  and  the  fam- 
ishing guests. 

During  the  expiring  bachelorship  of  Mr.  Eobert  Hobbs,  his 
sister,  Mrs.  Tiddy  (to  whom  the  reader  was  first  introduced  as 
a  bride  gathering  the  wisdom  of  economy  and  large  joints 
from  the  frugal  lips  of  her  mamma),  officiated  as  lady  of  the 
house,  — a  comely  matron,  and  well-preserved,  — except  that 
she  had  lost  a  front  tooth,  —  in  a  jaundiced  satinet  gown,  with 

19 


290  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

a  fall  of  British  blonde,  and  a  tucker  of  the  same,  Mr.  Tiddy 
being  a  starch  man,  and  not  willing  that  the  luxuriant  charms 
of  Mrs.  T.  should  be  too  temptingly  exposed!  There  was 
also  Mr.  Tiddy,  whom  his  wife  had  married  for  love,  and  who 
was  now  well  to  do,  —  a  fine-looking  man,  with  large  whiskers, 
and  a  Roman  nose,  a  little  awry.  Moreover,  there  was  a  Miss 
Biddy  or  Bridget  Hobbs,  a  young  lady  of  four  or  five  and 
twenty,  who  was  considering  whether  she  might  ask  Lord 
Vargrave  to  write  something  in  her  album,  and  who  cast  a 
bashful  look  of  admiration  at  the  slim  secretary,  as  he  now 
sauntered  into  the  room,  in  a  black  coat,  black  waistcoat, 
black  trousers,  and  a  black  neckcloth,  with  a  black  pin,  — 
looking  much  like  an  ebony  cane  split  half-way  up.  Miss 
Biddy  was  a  fair  young  lady,  a  leetle  faded,  with  uncommonly 
thin  arms  and  white  satin  shoes,  on  which  the  slim  secretary 
cast  his  eyes  and  —  shuddered ! 

In  addition  to  the  family  group  were  the  Rector  of  , 

an  agreeable  man,  who  published  sermons  and  poetry;  also 
Sir  William  Jekyll,  who  was  employing  Mr.  Hobbs  to  make 
a  map  of  an  estate  he  had  just  purchased;  also  two  country 
squires  and  their  two  wives ;  moreover,  the  physician  of  the 
neighbouring  town,  —  a  remarkably  tall  man,  who  wore  spec- 
tacles and  told  anecdotes;  and,  lastly,  Mr.  Onslow,  the  gen- 
tleman to  whom  Mr.  Hobbs  had  referred,  —  an  elderly  man  of 
prepossessing  exterior,  of  high  repute  as  the  most  efficient 
magistrate,  the  best  farmer,  and  the  most  sensible  person  in 
the  neighbourhood.  This  made  the  party,  to  each  individual 
of  which  the  great  man  bowed  and  smiled;  and  the  great 
man's  secretary  bent,  condescendingly,  three  joints  of  his 
backbone. 

The  bell  was  now  rung,  dinner  announced.  Sir  William 
Jekyll  led  the  way  with  one  of  the  she-squires,  and  Lord  Var- 
grave offered  his  arm  to  the  portly  Mrs.  Tiddy. 

Vargrave,  as  usual,  was  the  life  of  the  feast.  Mr.  Howard, 
who  sat  next  to  Miss  Bridget,  conversed  with  her  between 
the  courses,  "in  dumb  show."  Mr.  Onslow  and  the  physi- 
cian played  second  and  third  to  Lord  Vargrave.  When  the 
dinner  was  over,  and  the  ladies  had  retired,  Vargrave  found 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  291 

himself  seated  next  to  Mr.  Onslow,  and  discovered  in  his 
neighbour  a  most  agreeable  companion.  They  talked  princi- 
pally about  Lisle  Court,  and  from  Colonel  Maltravers  the  con- 
versation turned  naturally  upon  Ernest.  .  Vargrave  proclaimed 
his  early  intimacy  with  the  latter  gentleman,  complained,  feel- 
ingly, that  politics  had  divided  them  of  late,  and  told  two  or 
three  anecdotes  of  their  youthful  adventures  in  the  East.  Mr. 
Onslow  listened  to  him  with  much  attention. 

"I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Maltravers  many  years 
ago,"  said  he,  "and  upon  a  very  delicate  occasion.  I  was 
greatly  interested  in  him;  I  never  saw  one  so  young  (for  he 
was  then  but  a  boy)  manifest  feelings  so  deep.  By  the  dates 
you  have  referred  to,  your  acquaintance  with  him  must  have 
commenced  very  shortly  after  mine.  Was  he  at  that  time 
cheerful,  in  good  spirits?" 

"No,  indeed;  hypochondriacal  to  the  greatest  degree." 

"Your  lordship's  intimacy  with  him,  and  the  confidence 
that  generally  exists  between  young  men,  induce  me  to  sup- 
pose that  he  may  have  told  you  a  little  romance  connected 
with  his  early  years." 

Lumley  paused  to  consider;  and  this  conversation,  which 
had  been  carried  on  apart,  was  suddenly  broken  into  by  the 
tall  doctor,  who  wanted  to  know  whether  his  lordship  had 
ever  heard  the  anecdote  about  Lord  Thurlow  and  the  late 
king.  The  anecdote  was  as  long  as  the  doctor  himself;  and 
when  it  was  over,  the  gentlemen  adjourned  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  all  conversation  was  immediately  drowned  by 
"Row,  brothers,  row,"  which  had  only  been  suspended  till 
the  arrival  of  Mr.  Tiddy,  who  had  a  fine  bass  voice. 

Alas !  eighteen  years  ago,  in  that  spot  of  earth,  Alice  Darvil 
had  first  caught  the  soul  of  music  from  the  lips  of  Genius  and 
of  Love !  But  better  as  it  is,  —  less  romantic,  but  more 
proper, — as  Hobbs'  Lodge  was  less  pretty,  but  more  safe 
from  the  winds  and  rains,  than  Dale  Cottage. 

Miss  Bridget  ventured  to  ask  the  good-humoured  Lord  Var- 
grave if  he  sang.  "  Not  I,  Miss  Hobbs ;  but  Howard,  there ! 
—  ah,  if  you  heard  him  !  "  The  consequence  of  this  hint  was, 
that  the  unhappy  secretary,  who,  alone,  in  a  distant  corner, 


292  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

was  unconsciously  refreshing  his  fancy  with  some  cool  weak 
coffee,  was  instantly  beset  with  applications  from  Miss  Bridget, 
Mrs.  Tiddy,  Mr.  Tiddy,  and  the  tall  doctor,  to  favour  the  com- 
pany with  a  specimen  of  his  talents.  Mr.  Howard  could  sing, 
—  he  could  even  play  the  guitar.  But  to  sing  at  Hobbs'  Lodge, 
to  sing  to  the  accompaniment  of  Mrs.  Tiddy,  to  have  his  gentle 
tenor  crushed  to  death  in  a  glee  by  the  heavy  splayfoot  of  Mr. 
Tiddy 's  manly  bass  —  the  thought  was  insufferable!  He  fal- 
tered forth  assurances  of  his  ignorance,  and  hastened  to  bury 
his  resentment  in  the  retirement  of  a  remote  sofa.  Vargrave, 
who  had  forgotten  the  significant  question  of  Mr.  Onslow,  re- 
newed in  a  whisper  his  conversation  with  that  gentleman  rela- 
tive to  the  meditated  investment,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tiddy 
sang  "  Come  dwell  with  me ; "  and  Onslow  was  so  pleased 
with  his  new  acquaintance,  that  he  volunteered  to  make  a 
fourth  in  Lumley's  carriage  the  next  morning,  and  accompany 
him  to  Lisle  Court.  This  settled,  the  party  soon  afterwards 
broke  up.  At  midnight  Lord  Vargrave  was  fast  asleep ;  and 
Mr.  Howard,  tossing  restlessly  to  and  fro  on  his  melancholy 
couch,  was  revolving  all  the  hardships  that  await  a  native  of 
St.  James's,  who  ventures  forth  among  — 

"  The  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

But  how  were  these  doubts  to  be  changed  into  absolute  certainty  ? 

Edgar  Huntley. 

The  next  morning,  while  it  was  yet  dark,  Lord  Vargrave's 
carriage  picked  up  Mr.  Onslow  at  the  door  of  a  large  old- 
fashioned  house,  at  the  entrance  of  the  manufacturing  town 

of  .     The  party  were  silent  and  sleepy  till  they  arrived 

at  Lislo  Court.     The  sun  had  then  appeared,  the  morning  was 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES. 

clear,  the  air  frosty  and  bracing;  and  as,  after  traversing  a 
noble  park,  a  superb  quadrangular  pile  of  brick  flanked  by 
Luge  square  turrets  coped  with  stone  broke  upon  the  gaze 
of  Lord  Vargrave,  his  worldly  heart  swelled  within  him, 
and  the  image  of  Evelyn  became  inexpressibly  lovely  and 
seductive. 

Though  the  housekeeper  was  not  prepared  for  Vargrave's 
arrival  at  so  early  an  hour,  yet  he  had  been  daily  expected : 
the  logs  soon  burned  bright  in  the  ample  hearth  of  the  break- 
fast-room; the  urn  hissed,  the  cutlets  smoked;  and  while  the 
rest  of  the  party  gathered  round  the  fire,  and  unmuffled  them- 
selves of  cloaks  and  shawl-handkerchiefs,  Vargrave  seized 
upon  the  housekeeper,  traversed  with  delighted  steps  the 
magnificent  suite  of  rooms,  gazed  on  the  pictures,  admired 
the  state  bed-chambers,  peeped  into  the  offices,  and  recog- 
nized in  all  a  mansion  worthy  of  a  Peer  of  England, — but 
which  a  more  prudent  man  would  have  thought,  with  a  sigh, 
required  careful  management  of  the  rent-roll  raised  from  the 
property  adequately  to  equip  and  maintain.  Such  an  idea 
did  not  cross  the  mind  of  Vargrave;  he  only  thought  how 
much  he  should  be  honoured  and  envied,  when,  as  Secretary 
of  State,  he  should  yearly  fill  those  feudal  chambers  with  the 
pride  and  rank  of  England !  It  was  characteristic  of  the  ex- 
traordinary sanguineness  and  self-confidence  of  Vargrave,  that 
he  entirely  overlooked  one  slight  obstacle  to  this  prospect,  in 
the  determined  refusal  of  Evelyn  to  accept  that  passionate 
homage  which  he  offered  to  —  her  fortune ! 

When  breakfast  was  over  the  steward  was  called  in,  and 
the  party,  mounted  upon  ponies,  set  out  to  reconnoitre.  After 
spending  the  short  day  most  agreeably  in  looking  over  the  gar- 
dens, pleasure-grounds,  park,  and  home-farm,  and  settling  to 
visit  the  more  distant  parts  of  the  property  the  next  day,  the 
party  were  returning  home  to  dine,  when  Vargrave's  eye 
caught  the  glittering  whim  of  Sir  Gregory  Gubbins. 

He  pointed  it  out  to  Mr.  Onslow,  and  laughed  much  at 
hearing  of  the  annoyance  it  occasioned  to  Colonel  Maltravers. 
"Thus,"  said  Lumley,  "do  we  all  crumple  the  rose-leaf  under 
us,  and  quarrel  with  couches  the  most  luxuriant!     As  for  me. 


294  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

I  will  wager,  that  were  this  property  mine,  or  my  ward's,  in 
three  weeks  we  should  have  won  the  heart  of  Sir  Gregory, 
made  him  pull  down  his  whim,  and  coaxed  him  out  of  his 

interest  in  the  city  of  .     A  good  seat  for  you,  Howard, 

some  day  or  other." 

"  Sir  Gregory  has  prodigiously  bad  taste, "  said  Mr.  Hobbs. 
"  For  my  part,  I  think  that  there  ought  to  be  a  certain  modest 
simplicity  in  the  display  of  wealth  got  in  business,  — that  was 
my  poor  father's  maxim." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Vargrave,  "  Hobbs'  Lodge  is  a  specimen.  Who 
was  your  predecessor  in  that  charming  retreat?" 

"Why,  the  place  —  then  called  Dale  Cottage  —  belonged  to 
a  Mr.  Berners,  a  rich  bachelor  in  business,  who  was  rich 
enough  not  to  mind  what  people  said  of  him,  and  kept  a  lady 
there.  She  ran  off  from  him,  and  he  then  let  it  to  some 
young  man  —  a  stranger,  very  eccentric,  I  hear  —  a  Mr.  —  Mr. 
Butler  —  and  he,  too,  gave  the  cottage  an  unlawful  attraction, 
—  a  most  beautiful  girl,  I  have  heard." 

"  Butler !  "  echoed  Vargrave,  —  "  Butler !  Butler ! "  Lumley 
recollected  that  such  had  been  the  real  name  of  Mrs.  Cameron. 

Onslow  looked  hard  at  Vargrave. 

"You  recognize  the  name,  my  lord,"  said  he  in  a  whisper, 
as  Hobbs  had  turned  to  address  himself  to  Mr.  Howard.  "  I 
thought  you  very  discreet  when  I  asked  you,  last  night,  if 
you  remembered  the  early  follies  of  your  friend."  A  suspi- 
cion at  once  flashed  upon  the  quick  mind  of  Vargrave :  Butler 
was  a  name  on  the  mother's  side  in  the  family  of  Maltravers ; 
the  gloom  of  Ernest  when  he  first  knew  him,  the  boy's  hints 
that  the  gloom  was  connected  with  the  affections,  the  extraor- 
dinary and  single  accomplishment  of  Lady  Vargrave  in  that 
art  of  which  Maltravers  was  so  consummate  a  master,  the  sim- 
ilarity of  name,  —  all  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  meaning 
question  of  Mr.  Onslow,  were  enough  to  suggest  to  Vargrave 
that  he  might  be  on  the  verge  of  a  family  secret,  the  know- 
ledge of  which  could  be  turned  to  advantage.  He  took  care 
not  to  confess  his  ignorance,  but  artfully  proceeded  to  draw 
out  Mr.  Onslow's  communications. 

"Why,  it  is  true,"  said  he,  "that  Maltravers  and  I  had  no 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  295 

secrets.  Ah,  we  were  wild  fellows  then!  The  name  of  Butler 
is  in  his  family,  eh?" 

"It  is.     I  see  you  know  all." 

"  Yes ;  he  told  me  the  story,  but  it  is  eighteen  years  ago. 
Do  refresh  my  memory.  Howard,  my  good  fellow,  just  ride 
on  and  expedite  dinner:  Mr.  Hobbs,  will  you  go  with  Mr. 
What's-his-name,  the  steward,  and  look  over  the  maps,  out- 
goings, etc.?  Now,  Mr.  Onslow  —  so  Maltravers  took  the 
cottage,  and  a  lady  with  it?  — ay,  I  remember." 

Mr.  Onslow  (who  was  in  fact  that  magistrate  to  whom 
Ernest  had  confided  his  name  and  committed  the  search  after 
Alice,  and  who  was  really  anxious  to  know  if  any  tidings  of 
the  poor  girl  had  ever  been  ascertained)  here  related  that  his- 
tory with  which  the  reader  is  acquainted,  —  the  robbery  of  the 
cottage,  the  disappearance  of  Alice,  the  suspicions  that  con- 
nected that  disappearance  with  her  rufiian  father,  the  despair 
and  search  of  Maltravers.  He  added  that  Ernest,  both  before 
his  departure  from  England,  and  on  his  return,  had  written  to 
him  to  learn  if  Alice  had  ever  been  heard  of;  the  replies  of 
the  magistrate  were  unsatisfactory.  "  And  do  you  think,  my 
lord,  that  Mr.  Maltravers  has  never  to  this  day  ascertained 
what  became  of  the  poor  3^oung  woman?  " 

"Why,  let  me  see, — what  was  her  name?" 

The  magistrate  thought  a  moment,  and  replied,  "Alice 
Darvil." 

"  Alice !  "  exclaimed  Vargrave.  "  Alice !  "  —  aware  that 
such  was  the  Christian  name  of  his  uncle's  wife,  and  now 
almost  convinced  of  the  truth  of  his  first  vague  suspicion. 

"  You  seem  to  know  the  name?  " 

"Of  Alice;  yes  —  but  not  Darvil.  No,  no;  I  believe  he  has 
never  heard  of  the  girl  to  this  hour.     Nor  you  either?  " 

"  I  have  not.  One  little  circumstance  related  to  me  by  Mr, 
Hobbs,  your  surveyor's  father,  gave  me  some  uneasiness. 
About  two  years  after  the  young  woman  disappeared,  a  girl, 
of  very  humble  dress  and  appearance,  stopped  at  the  gate  of 
Hobbs'  Lodge,  and  asked  earnestly  for  Mr.  Butler.  On  hear- 
ing he  was  gone,  she  turned  away,  and  was  seen  no  more.  It 
seems  that  this  girl  had  an  infant  in  her  arms  —  which  rather 


296  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

shocked  the  propriety  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hobbs.  The  old  gen- 
tleman told  me  the  circumstance  a  few  days  after  it  hap- 
pened, and  I  caused  inquiry  to  be  made  for  the  stranger;  but 
she  could  not  be  discovered.  I  thought  at  first  this  possibly 
might  be  the  lost  Alice ;  but  I  learned  that,  during  his  stay 
at  the  cottage,  your  friend  —  despite  his  error,  which  we  will 
not  stop  to  excuse  —  had  exercised  so  generous  and  wide  a 
charity  amongst  the  poor  in  the  town  and  neighbourhood,  that 
it  was  a  more  probable  supposition  of  the  two  that  the  girl 
belonged  to  some  family  he  had  formerly  relieved,  and  her 
visit  was  that  of  a  mendicant,  not  a  mistress.  Accordingly, 
after  much  consideration,  I  resolved  not  to  mention  the  cir- 
cumstances to  Mr.  Maltravers,  when  he  wrote  to  me  on  his 
return  from  the  Continent.  A  considerable  time  had  then 
elapsed  since  the  girl  had  applied  to  Mr.  Hobbs ;  all  trace  of 
her  was  lost;  the  incident  might  open  wounds  that  time  must 
have  nearly  healed,  might  give  false  hopes  —  or,  what  was 
worse,  occasion  a  fresh  and  unfounded  remorse  at  the  idea  of 
Alice's  destitution;  it  would,  in  fact,  do  no  good,  and  might 
occasion  unnecessary  pain.  I  therefore  suppressed  all  men- 
tion of  it." 

"You  did  right:  and  so  the  poor  girl  had  an  infant  in  her 
arms?  —  humph!  What  sort  of  looking  person  was  this  Alice 
Darvil,  — pretty,  of  course?" 

"I  never  saw  her;  and  none  but  the  persons  employed  in 
the  premises  knew  her  by  sight;  they  described  her  as  remark- 
ably lovely." 

"Fair  and  slight,  with  blue  eyes,  I  suppose?  —  those  are 
the  orthodox  requisites  of  a  heroine." 

"  Upon  my  word  I  forget ;  indeed  I  should  never  have 
remembered  as  much  as  I  do,  if  the  celebrity  of  Mr.  Mal- 
travers, and  the  consequence  of  his  family  in  these  parts, 
together  with  the  sight  of  his  own  agony  —  the  most  painful 
I  ever  witnessed  —  had  not  served  to  impress  the  whole  affair 
very  deeply  on  my  mind." 

"  Was  the  girl  who  appeared  at  the  gate  of  Hobbs'  Lodge 
described  to  you?  " 

"No;  they  scarcely  observed  her  countenance,  except  that 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  297 

her  complexion  was  too  fair  for  a  gypsy's ;  yet,  now  I  think  of 
it,  Mrs.  Tiddy,  who  was  with  her  father  when  he  told  me  the 
adventure,  dwelt  particularly  on  her  having  (as  you  so  pleas- 
antly conjecture)  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes.  Mrs.  Tiddy,  being 
just  married,  was  romantic  at  that  day." 

"  Well,  it  is  an  odd  tale ;  but  life  is  full  of  odd  tales.     Here 
we  are  at  the  house ;  it  really  is  a  splendid  old  place ! " 


CHAPTER  V. 
Pendent  opera  interrupts.^  —  Vikgil. 

The  history  Vargrave  had  heard  he  revolved  much  when 
he  retired  to  rest.  He  could  not  but  allow  that  there  was  still 
little  ground  for  more  than  conjecture  that  Alice  Darvil  and 
Alice  Lady  Vargrave  were  one  and  the  same  person.  It 
might,  however,  be  of  great  importance  to  him  to  trace  this 
conjecture  to  certainty.  The  knowledge  of  a  secret  of  early 
sin  and  degradation  in  one  so  pure,  so  spotless,  as  Lady  Var- 
grave, might  be  of  immense  service  in  giving  him  a  power 
over  her,  which  he  could  turn  to  account  with  Evelyn.  How 
could  he  best  prosecute  further  inquiry, — by  repairing  at 
once  to  Brook-Green,  or  —  the  thought  struck  him  —  by  visit- 
ing and  "  pumping  "  Mrs.  Leslie,  the  patroness  of  Mrs.  Butler, 

of  C ,  the  friend  of  Lady  Vargrave?     It  was  worth  trying 

the  latter,  —  it  was  little  out  of  his  way  back  to  London.  His 
success  in  picking  the  brains  of  Mr.  Onslow  of  a  secret  en- 
couraged him  in  the  hope  of  equal  success  with  Mrs.  Leslie. 
He  decided  accordingly,  and  fell  asleep  to  dream  of  Christ- 
mas battues,  royal  visitors,  the  Cabinet,  the  premiership! 
Well,  no  possession  equals  the  dream  of  it!  Sleep  on,  my 
lord !  you  would  be  restless  enough  if  you  were  to  get  all  you 
want. 

1  "  The  things  begun  are  interrupted  and  suspended." 


298  ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

For  the  next  three  days,  Lord  Vargrave  was  employed  in 
examining  the  general  outlines  of  the  estate;  and  the  result 
of  this  survey  satisfied  him  as  to  the  expediency  of  the  pur- 
chase. On  the  third  day,  he  was  several  miles  from  the 
house  when  a  heavy  rain  came  on.  Lord  Vargrave  was  con- 
stitutionally hardy,  and  not  having  been  much  exposed  to 
visitations  of  the  weather  of  late  years,  was  not  practically 
aware  that  when  a  man  is  past  forty,  he  cannot  endure  with  im- 
punity all  that  falls  innocuously  on  the  elasticity  of  twenty- 
six.  He  did  not,  therefore,  heed  the  rain  that  drenched  him 
to  the  skin,  and  neglected  to  change  his  dress  till  he  had 
finished  reading  some  letters  and  newspapers  which  awaited 
his  return  at  Lisle  Court.  The  consequence  of  this  impru- 
dence was,  that  the  next  morning  when  he  woke,  Lord  Var- 
grave found  himself,  for  almost  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
seriously  ill.  His  head  ached  violently,  cold  shiverings  shook 
his  frame  like  an  ague ;  the  very  strength  of  the  constitution 
on  which  the  fever  had  begun  to  fasten  itself  augmented  its 
danger.  Lumley  —  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  think  of  the 
possibility  of  dying  —  fought  up  against  his  own  sensations, 
ordered  his  post-horses,  as  his  visit  of  survey  was  now  over, 
and  scarcely  even  alluded  to  his  indisposition.  About  an 
hour  before  he  set  off,  his  letters  arrived;  one  of  these  in- 
formed him  that  Caroline,  accompanied  by  Evelyn,  had 
already  arrived  in  Paris;  the  other  was  from  Colonel 
Legard,  respectfully  resigning  his  office,  on  the  ground  of 
an  accession  of  fortune  by  the  sudden  death  of  the  admiral, 
and  his  intention  to  spend  the  ensuing  year  in  a  Continental 
excursion.  This  last  letter  occasioned  Vargrave  considerable 
alarm;  he  had  always  felt  a  deep  jealousy  of  the  handsome 
ex-guardsman,  and  he  at  once  suspected  that  Legard  was 
about  to  repair  to  Paris  as  his  rival.  He  sighed,  and  looked 
round  the  spacious  apartment,  and  gazed  on  the  wide  pros- 
pects of  grove  and  turf  that  extended  from  the  window,  and 
said  to  himself,  "  Is  another  to  snatch  these  from  my  grasp?  " 
His  impatience  to  visit  Mrs.  Leslie,  to  gain  ascendency  over 
Lady  Vargrave,  to  repair  to  Paris,  to  scheme,  to  manoeuvre, 
to  triumph,  accelerated  the  progress  of  the  disease  that  was 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  299 

now  burning  in  his  veins ;  and  the  hand  that  he  held  out  to 
Mr.  Hobbs,  as  he  stepped  into  his  carriage,  almost  scorched 
the  cold,  plump,  moist  fingers  of  the  surveyor.  Before  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening  Lord  Vargrave  confessed  reluctantly 
to  himself  that  he  was  too  ill  to  proceed  much  farther. 
"Howard,"  said  he  then,  breaking  a  silence  that  had  lasted 
some  hours,  "don't  be  alarmed;  I  feel  that  I  am  about  to 

have  a  severe  attack;  I  shall  stop  at  M (naming  a  large 

town  they  were  approaching) ;  I  shall  send  for  the  best  physi- 
cian the  place  affords ;  if  I  am  delirious  to-morrow,  or  unable 
to  give  my  own  orders,  have  the  kindness  to  send  express  for 
Dr.  Holland,  —  but  don't  leave  me  yourself,  my  good  fellow. 
At  my  age,  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  have  no  one  in  the  world  to 
care  for  me  in  illness ;  d — n  affection  when  I  am  well !  " 

After  this  strange  burst,  which  very  much  frightened  Mr. 
Howard,   Lumley  relapsed  into  silence,  not  broken   till   he 

reached  M .     The  best  physician  was  sent  for;   and  the 

next  morning,  as  he  had  half  foreseen  and  foretold,  Lord 
Vargrave  was  delirious  I 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

Nought  under  Heaven  so  strongly  doth  allure 
The  sense  of  man,  and  all  his  mind  possess, 
As  Beauty's  love-bait.  —  Spensek. 

Legard  was,  as  I  have  before  intimated,  a  young  man  of 
generous  and  excellent  dispositions,  though  somewhat  spoiled 
by  the  tenor  of  his  education,  and  the  gay  and  reckless  society 
which  had  administered  tonics  to  his  vanity  and  opiates  to 
his  intellect.  The  effect  which  the  beauty,  the  grace,  the 
innocence  of  Evelyn  had  produced  upon  him  had  been  most 
deep  and  most  salutary.  It  had  rendered  dissipation  tasteless 
and  insipid;  it  had  made  him  look  more  deeply  into  his  own 
heart,  and  into  the  rules  of  life.     Though,  partly  from  the 


300  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

irksomeness  of  dependence  upon  an  uncle  at  once  generous 
and  ungracious,  partly  from  a  diffident  and  feeling  sense  of 
his  own  inadequate  pretensions  to  the  hand  of  Miss  Cameron, 
and  partly  from  the  prior  and  acknowledged  claims  of  Lord 
Vargrave,  he  had  accepted,  half  in  despair,  the  appointment 
offered  to  him,  he  still  found  it  impossible  to  banish  that 
image  which  had  been  the  first  to  engrave  upon  ardent  and 
fresh  affections  an  indelible  impression.  He  secretly  chafed 
at  the  thought  that  it  was  to  a  fortunate  rival  that  he  owed 
the  independence  and  the  station  he  had  acquired,  and  re- 
solved to  seize  an  early  opportunity  to  free  himself  from  obli- 
gations that  he  deeply  regretted  he  had  incurred.  At  length 
he  learned  that  Lord  Vargrave  had  been  refused,  —  that  Eve- . 
lyn  was  free;  and  within  a  few  days  from  that  intelligence, 
the  admiral  was  seized  with  apoplexy ;  and  Legard  suddenly 
found  himself  possessed,  if  not  of  wealth,  at  least  of  a  com- 
petence sufficient  to  redeem  his  character  as  a  suitor  from  the 
suspicion  attached  to  a  fortune-hunter  and  adventurer.  De- 
spite the  new  prospects  opened  to  him  by  the  death  of  his 
uncle,  and  despite  the  surly  caprice  which  had  mingled  with 
and  alloyed  the  old  admiral's  kindness,  Legard  was  greatly 
shocked  by  his  death ;  and  his  grateful  and  gentle  nature  was 
at  first  only  sensible  to  grief  for  the  loss  he  had  sustained. 
But  when,  at  last,  recovering  from  his  sorrow,  he  saw  Evelyn 
disengaged  and  free,  and  himself  in  a  position  honourably  to 
contest  her  hand,  he  could  not  resist  the  sweet  and  passionate 
hopes  that  broke  upon  him.  He  resigned,  as  we  have  seen, 
his  official  appointment,  and  set  out  for  Paris.  He  reached 
that  city  a  day  or  two  after  the  arrival  of  Lord  and  Lady 
Doltimore.  He  found  the  former,  who  had  not  forgotten  the 
cautions  of  Vargrave,  at  first  cold  and  distant;  but  partly 
from  the  indolent  habit  of  submitting  to  Legard's  dictates  on 
matters  of  taste,  partly  from  a  liking  to  his  society,  and  prin- 
cipally from  the  popular  suffrages  of  fashion,  which  had 
always  been  accorded  to  Legard,  and  which  were  nowadays 
diminished  by  the  news  of  his  accession  of  fortune.  Lord 
Doltimore,  weak  and  vain,  speedily  yielded  to  the  influences 
of  his  old  associate,  and  Legard  became  quietly  installed  as 


ALICE  ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  801 

the  enfant  de  la  maison.  Caroline  was  not  in  this  instance  a 
very  faithful  ally  to  Vargrave's  views  and  policy.  In  his 
singular  liaison  with  Lady  Doltimore,  the  crafty  manoeuvrer 
had  committed  the  vulgar  fault  of  intriguers:  he  had  over- 
refined  and  had  overreached  himself.  At  the  commencement 
of  their  strange  and  unprincipled  intimacy,  Vargrave  had  had, 
perhaps,  no  other  thought  than  that  of  piquing  Evelyn,  con- 
soling his  vanity,  amusing  his  ennui,  and  indulging  rather  his 
propensities  as  a  gallant  than  promoting  his  more  serious 
objects  as  a  man  of  the  world.  By  degrees,  and  especially  at 
Knaresdean,  Vargrave  himself  became  deeply  entangled  by  an 
affair  that  he  had  never  before  contemplated  as  more  impor- 
tant than  a  passing  diversion ;  instead  of  securing  a  friend  to 
assist  him  in  his  designs  on  Evelyn,  he  suddenly  found  that 
he  had  obtained  a  mistress  anxious  for  his  love  and  jealous  of 
his  homage.  With  his  usual  promptitude  and  self-confidence, 
he  was  led  at  once  to  deliver  himself  of  all  the  ill-consequences 
of  his  rashness,  — to  get  rid  of  Caroline  as  a  mistress,  and  to 
retain  her  as  a  tool,  by  marrying  her  to  Lord  Doltimore.  By 
the  great  ascendency  which  his  character  acquired  over  her, 
and  by  her  own  worldly  ambition,  he  succeeded  in  inducing 
her  to  sacrifice  all  romance  to  a  union  that  gave  her  rank  and 
fortune;  and  Vargrave  then  rested  satisfied  that  the  clever 
wife  would  not  only  secure  him  a  permanent  power  over  the 
political  influence  and  private  fortune  of  the  weak  husband, 
but  also  abet  his  designs  in  securing  an  alliance  equally  desir- 
able for  himself.  Here  it  was  that  Vargrave's  incapacity  to 
understand  the  refinements  and  scruples  of  a  woman's  affec- 
tion and  nature,  however  guilty  the  one,  and  however  worldly 
the  other,  foiled  and  deceived  him.  Caroline,  though  the  wife 
of  another,  could  not  contemplate  without  anguish  a  similar 
bondage  for  her  lover;  and  having  something  of  the  better 
qualities  of  her  sex  still  left  to  her,  she  recoiled  from  being 
an  accomplice  in  arts  that  were  to  drive  the  young,  inexperi- 
enced, and  guileless  creature  who  called  her  "  friend  "  into  the 
arms  of  a  man  who  openly  avowed  the  most  mercenary  mo- 
tives, and  who  took  gods  and  men  to  witness  that  his  heart 
was  sacred  to  another.     Only  in  Vargrave's   presence  were 


302  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

these  scruples  overmastered;  but  the  moment  he  was  gone 
they  returned  in  full  force.  She  had  yielded,  from  positive 
fear,  to  his  commands  that  she  should  convey  Evelyn  to  Paris ; 
but  she  trembled  to  think  of  the  vague  hints  and  dark  men- 
aces that  Vargrave  had  let  fall  as  to  ulterior  proceedings,  and 
was  distracted  at  the  thought  of  being  implicated  in  some 
villanous  or  rash  design.  When,  therefore,  the  man  whose 
rivalry  Vargrave  most  feared  was  almost  established  at  her 
house,  she  made  but  a  feeble  resistance ;  she  thought  that,  if 
Legard  should  become  a  welcome  and  accepted  suitor  before 
Lumley  arrived,  the  latter  would  be  forced  to  forego  whatever 
hopes  he  yet  cherished,  and  that  she  should  be  delivered  from 
a  dilemma,  the  prospect  of  which  daunted  and  appalled  her. 
Added  to  this,  Caroline  was  now,  alas!  sensible  that  a  fool  is 
not  so  easily  governed;  her  resistance  to  an  intimacy  with 
Legard  would  have  been  of  little  avail :  Doltimore,  in  these 
matters,  had  an  obstinate  will  of  his  own;  and,  whatever 
might  once  have  been  Caroline's  influence  over  her  liege, 
certain  it  is  that  such  influence  had  been  greatly  impaired 
of  late  by  the  indulgence  of  a  temper,  always  irritable,  and 
now  daily  more  soured  by  regret,  remorse,  contempt  for  her 
husband,  —  and  the  melancholy  discovery  that  fortune,  youth, 
beauty,  and  station  are  no  talismans  against  misery. 

It  was  the  gayest  season  of  Paris ;  and  to  escape  from  her- 
self, Caroline  plunged  eagerly  into  the  vortex  of  its  dissipa- 
tions. If  Doltimore's  heart  was  disappointed,  his  vanity  was 
pleased  at  the  admiration  Caroline  excited;  and  he  himself 
was  of  an  age  and  temper  to  share  in  the  pursuits  and  amuse- 
ments of  his  wife.  Into  these  gayeties,  new  to  their  fascina- 
tion, dazzled  by  their  splendour,  the  young  Evelyn  entered 
with  her  hostess;  and  ever  by  her  side  was  the  unequalled 
form  of  Legard.  Each  of  them  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  each 
of  them  at  once  formed  to  please,  and  to  be  pleased  by  that 
fair  Armida  which  we  call  the  World,  there  was,  necessarily, 
a  certain  congeniality  in  their  views  and  sentiments,  their 
occupations  and  their  objects ;  nor  was  there,  in  all  that  bril- 
liant city,  one  more  calculated  to  captivate  the  eye  and  fancy 
than  George  Legard.     But  still,  to  a  certain  degree  diffident 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  808 

and  fearful,  Legard  never  yet  spoke  of  love;  nor  did  their 
intimacy  at  this  time  ripen  to  that  point  in  which  Evelyn 
could  have  asked  herself  if  there  were  danger  in  the  society 
of  Legard,  or  serious  meaning  in  his  obvious  admiration. 
Whether  that  melancholy,  to  which  Lady  Vargrave  had  al- 
luded in  her  correspondence  with  Lumley,  were  occasioned 
by  thoughts  connected  with  Maltravers,  or  unacknowledged 
recollections  of  Legard,  it  remains  for  the  acute  reader  him- 
self to  ascertain. 

The  Doltimores  had  been  about  three  weeks  in  Paris ;  and 
for  a  fortnight  of  that  time  Legard  had  been  their  constant 
guest,  and  half  the  inmate  of  their  hotel,  when,  on  that  night 
which  has  been  commemorated  in  our  last  book,  Maltravers 
suddenly  once  more  beheld  the  face  of  Evelyn,  and  in  the 
same  hour  learned  that  she  was  free.  He  quitted  Valerie's 
box;  with  a  burning  pulse  and  a  beating  heart,  joy  and  sur- 
prise and  hope  sparkling  in  his  eyes  and  brightening  his 
whole  aspect,  he  hastened  to  Evelyn's  side. 

It  was  at  this  time  Legard,  who  sat  behind  Miss  Cameron, 
unconscious  of  the  approach  of  a  rival,  happened  by  one  of 
those  chances  which  occur  in  conversation  to  mention  the 
name  of  Maltravers.  He  asked  Evelyn  if  she  had  yet 
met  him. 

"What!  is  he,  then,  in  Paris?"  asked  Evelyn,  quickly. 
"I  heard,  indeed,"  she  continued,  "that  he  left  Burleigh  for 
Paris,  but  imagined  he  had  gone  on  to  Italy." 

"No,  he  is  still  here;  but  he  goes,  I  believe,  little  into  the 
society  Lady  Doltimore  chiefly  visits.  Is  he  one  of  your 
favourites.  Miss  Cameron?" 

There  was  a  slight  increase  of  colour  in  Evelyn's  beautiful 
cheek,  as  she  answered,  — 

"Is  it  possible  not  to  admire  and  be  interested  in  one  so 
gifted?" 

"He  has  certainly  noble  and  fine  qualities,"  returned 
Legard;  "but  I  cannot  feel  at  ease  with  him:  a  coldness, 
a  hauteur,  a  measured  distance  of  manner,  seem  to  forbid 
even  esteem.  Yet  /  ought  not  to  say  so,"  he  added,  with  a 
pang  of  self-reproach. 


304  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"No,  indeed,  you  ought  not  to  say  so,"  said  Evelyn,  shak- 
ing her  head  with  a  pretty  affectation  of  anger;  "for  I  know 
that  you  pretend  to  like  what  I  like,  and  admire  what  I 
admire;  and  I  am  an  enthusiast  in  all  that  relates  to  Mr. 
Maltravers ! " 

"  I  know  that  I  would  wish  to  see  all  things  in  life  through 
Miss  Cameron's  eyes,"  whispered  Legard,  softly;  and  this  was 
the  most  meaning  speech  he  had  ever  yet  made. 

Evelyn  turned  away,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  the  opera; 
and  at  that  instant  the  door  of  the  box  opened,  and  Maltravers 
entered. 

In  her  open,  undisguised,  youthful  delight  at  seeing  him 
again,  Maltravers  felt,  indeed,  "as  if  Paradise  were  opened 
in  her  face,"  In  his  own  agitated  emotions,  he  scarcely 
noticed  that  Legard  had  risen  and  resigned  his  seat  to  him; 
he  availed  himself  of  the  civility,  greeted  his  old  acquaint- 
ance with  a  smile  and  a  bow,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  in 
deep  converse  with  Evelyn. 

Never  had  he  so  successfully  exerted  the  singular,  the 
master-fascination  that  he  could  command  at  will,  —  the 
more  powerful  from  its  contrast  to  his  ordinary  coldness. 
In  the  very  expression  of  his  eyes,  the  very  tone  of  his  voice, 
there  was  that  in  Maltravers,  seen  at  his  happier  moments, 
which  irresistibly  interested  and  absorbed  your  attention:  he 
could  make  you  forget  everything  but  himself,  and  the  rich, 
easy,  yet  earnest  eloquence,  which  gave  colour  to  his  language 
and  melody  to  his  voice.  In  that  hour  of  renewed  intercourse 
with  one  who  had  at  first  awakened,  if  not  her  heart,  at  least 
her  imagination  and  her  deeper  thoughts,  certain  it  is  that 
even  Legard  was  not  missed.  As  she  smiled  and  listened, 
Evelyn  dreamed  not  of  the  anguish  she  inflicted.  Leaning 
against  the  box,  Legard  surveyed  the  absorbed  attention  of 
Evelyn,  the  adoring  eyes  of  Maltravers,  with  that  utter  and 
crushing  wretchedness  which  no  passion  but  jealousy,  and 
that  only  while  it  is  yet  a  virgin  agony,  can  bestow!  He 
had  never  before  even  dreamed  of  rivalry  in  such  a  quarter; 
but  there  was  that  ineffable  instinct,  which  lovers  have,  and 
which  so  seldom  errs,  that  told  him  at  once  that  in  Maltravers 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  305 

was  the  greatest  obstacle  his  passion  could  encounter.  He 
waited  in  hopes  that  Evelyn  would  take  the  occasion  to  turn 
to  him  at  least  —  when  the  fourth  act  closed.  She  did  not ; 
and,  unable  to  constrain  his  emotions,  and  reply  to  the  small- 
talk  of  Lord  Doltimore,  he  abruptly  quitted  the  box. 

When  the  opera  was  over,  Maltravers  offered  his  arm  to 
Evelyn;  she  accepted  it,  and  then  she  looked  round  for 
Legard.     He  was  gone. 


20 


BOOK  vm. 


'a  Ztv,  rl  fiov  Spafftu  PtfioliXfvfftu  vtpt ; 

0  Fate !  0  Heaven !  —  what  have  ye  then  decreed  ? 

Sophocles  :  (Ed.  Tyr.  738. 

"tfipts,    .    .    . 

&Kportirav  elffavd^atr'  incSrofiov 
6pov<riy  viv  els  iyiyKow-  —  Ibid,  874. 

"  Insolent  pride    .    .    . 

The  topmost  crag  of  the  great  precipice 
Surmounts  —  to  rush  to  ruin." 


CHAPTER  I. 

.    .     .    She  is  young,  wise,  fair, 

In  these  to  Nature  she 's  immediate  heir. 

.     .    .    Honours  best  thrive 

When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 

Than  our  f oregoers  !  —  All 's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 

LETTER  FROM  ERNEST  MALTRAVERS  TO  THE 
HON.  FREDERICK  CLEVELAND. 

Evelyn  is  free;  she  is  in  Paris;  I  have  seen  her,  — I  see 
her  daily! 

How  true  it  is  that  we  cannot  make  a  philosophy  of  indiffer- 
ence !  The  affections  are  stronger  than  all  our  reasonings.  We 
must  take  them  into  our  alliance,  or  they  will  destroy  all  our 
theories  of  self-government.  Such  fools  of  fate  are  we,  pass- 
ing from  system  to  system,  from  scheme  to  scheme,  vainly 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  807 

seeking  to  shut  out  passion  and  sorrow  —  forgetting  that  they 
are  born  within  us  —  and  return  to  the  soul  as  the  seasons  to 
the  earth !  Yet,  —  years,  many  years  ago,  when  I  first  looked 
gravely  into  my  own  nature  and  being  here,  when  I  first  awak- 
ened to  the  dignity  and  solemn  responsibilities  of  human  life, 
I  had  resolved  to  tame  and  curb  myself  into  a  thing  of  rule 
and  measure.  Bearing  within  me  the  wound  scarred  over  but 
never  healed,  the  consciousness  of  wrong  to  the  heart  that  had 
leaned  upon  me,  haunted  by  the  memory  of  my  lost  Alice,  I 
shuddered  at  new  affections  bequeathing  new  griefs.  Wrapped 
in  a  haughty  egotism,  I  wished  not  to  extend  my  empire  over 
a  wider  circuit  than  my  own  intellect  and  passions.  I  turned 
from  the  trader-covetousness  of  bliss,  that  would  freight  the 
wealth  of  life  upon  barks  exposed  to  every  wind  upon  the  seas 
of  Fate;  I  was  contented  with  the  hope  to  pass  life  alone, 
honoured,  though  unloved.  Slowly  and  reluctantly  I  yielded 
to  the  fascinations  of  Florence  Lascelles.  The  hour  that 
sealed  the  compact  between  us  was  one  of  regret  and  alarm. 
In  vain  I  sought  to  deceive  myself,  —  I  felt  that  I  did  not 
love.  And  then  I  imagined  that  Love  was  no  longer  in  my 
nature,  —  that  I  had  exhausted  its  treasures  before  my  time, 
and  left  my  heart  a  bankrupt.  Not  till  the  last  —  not  till 
that  glorious  soul  broke  out  in  all  its  brightness  the  nearer  it 
approached  the  source  to  which  it  has  returned  —  did  I  feel 
of  what  tenderness  she  was  worthy  and  I  was  capable.  She 
died,  and  the  world  was  darkened!  Energy,  ambition,  my 
former  aims  and  objects,  were  all  sacrificed  at  her  tomb.  But 
amidst  ruins  and  through  the  darkness,  my  soul  yet  supported 
me ;  I  could  no  longer  hope,  but  I  could  endure.  I  was  re- 
solved that  I  would  not  be  subdued,  and  that  the  world  should 
not  hear  me  groan.  Amidst  strange  and  far-distant  scenes, 
amidst  hordes  to  whom  my  very  language  was  unknown,  in 
wastes  and  forests,  which  the  step  of  civilized  man,  with  his 
sorrows  and  his  dreams,  had  never  trodden,  I  wrestled  with 
my  soul,  as  the  patriarch  of  old  wrestled  with  the  angel,  — 
and  the  angel  was  at  last  the  victor!  You  do  not  mistake  me : 
you  know  that  it  was  not  the  death  of  Florence  alone  that 
worked  in  me  that  awful  revolution;  but  with  that  death  the 


308  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

last  glory  fled  from  the  face  of  things  that  had  seemed  to  me 
beautiful  of  old.  Hers  was  a  love  that  accompanied  and  dig- 
nified the  schemes  and  aspirations  of  manhood,  —  a  love  that 
was  an  incarnation  of  ambition  itself;  and  all  the  evils  and 
disappointments  that  belong  to  ambition  seemed  to  crowd 
around  my  heart  like  vultures  to  a  feast  allured  and  invited 
by  the  dead.  But  this  at  length  was  over;  the  barbarous 
state  restored  me  to  the  civilized.  I  returned  to  my  equals, 
prepared  no  more  to  be  an  actor  in  the  strife,  but  a  calm  spec- 
tator of  the  turbulent  arena.  I  once  more  laid  my  head  be- 
neath the  roof  of  my  fathers;  and  if  without  any  clear  and 
definite  object,  I  at  least  hoped  to  find  amidst ' '  my  old  hered- 
itary trees "  the  charm  of  contemplation  and  repose.  And 
scarce  —  in  the  first  hours  of  my  arrival  —  had  I  indulged 
that  dream,  when  a  fair  face,  a  sweet  voice,  that  had  once 
before  left  deep  and  unobliterated  impressions  on  my  heart, 
scattered  all  my  philosophy  to  the  winds.  I  saw  Evelyn !  and 
if  ever  there  was  love  at  first  sight,  it  was  that  which  I  felt 
for  her :  I  lived  in  her  presence,  and  forgot  the  Future !  Or, 
rather,  I  was  with  the  Past,  —  in  the  bowers  of  my  spring- 
tide of  life  and  hope !  It  was  an  after-birth  of  youth  —  my 
love  for  that  young  heart ! 

It  is,  indeed,  only  in  maturity  that  we  know  how  lovely 
were  our  earliest  years!  What  depth  of  wisdom  in  the  old 
Greek  myth,  that  allotted  Hebe  as  the  prize  to  the  god  who 
had  been  the  arch-labourer  of  life!  and  whom  the  satiety  of 
all  that  results  from  experience  had  made  enamoured  of  all 
that  belongs  to  the  Hopeful  and  the  New ! 

This  enchanting  child,  this  delightful  Evelyn,  this  ray  of 
undreamed  of  sunshine,  smiled  away  all  my  palaces  of  ice.  I 
loved,  Cleveland,  —  I  loved  more  ardently,  more  passionately, 
more  wildly  than  ever  I  did  of  old !  But  suddenly  I  learned 
that  she  was  affianced  to  another,  and  felt  that  it  was  not  for 
me  to  question,  to  seek  the  annulment  of  the  bond,  I  had 
been  unworthy  to  love  Evelyn  if  I  had  not  loved  honour  more ! 
I  fled  from  her  presence,  honestly  and  resolutely ;  I  sought  to 
conquer  a  forbidden  passion ;  I  believed  that  I  had  not  won 
affection  in  return;  I  believed,  from  certain  expressions  that 


ALICE  ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  809 

I  overheard  Evelyn  utter  to  another,  that  her  heart  as  well  as 
her  hand  was  given  to  Vargrave.  I  came  hither ;  you  know 
how  sternly  and  resolutely  I  strove  to  eradicate  a  weakness 
that  seemed  without  even  the  justification  of  hope !  If  I  suf- 
fered, I  betrayed  it  not.  Suddenly  Evelyn  appeared  again 
before  me !  —  and  suddenly  I  learned  that  she  was  free !  Oh, 
the  rapture  of  that  moment !  Could  you  have  seen  her  bright 
face,  her  enchanting  smile,  when  we  met  again !  Her  ingenu- 
ous innocence  did  not  conceal  her  gladness  at  seeing  me! 
What  hopes  broke  upon  me!  Despite  the  dilference  of  our 
years,  I  think  she  loves  me !  that  in  that  love  I  am  about  at 
last  to  learn  what  blessings  there  are  in  life. 

Evelyn  has  the  simplicity,  the  tenderness,  of  Alice,  with 
the  refinement  and  culture  of  Florence  herself;  not  the 
genius,  not  the  daring  spirit,  not  the  almost  fearful  bril- 
liancy of  that  ill-fated  being, — but  with  a  taste  as  true  to  the 
Beautiful,  with  a  soul  as  sensitive  to  the  Sublime !  In  Eve- 
lyn's presence  I  feel  a  sense  of  peace,  of  security,  of  home! 
Happy!  thrice  happy!  he  who  will  take  her  to  his  breast! 
Of  late  she  has  assumed  a  new  charm  in  my  eyes,  —  a  certain 
pensiveness  and  abstraction  have  succeeded  to  her  wonted 
gayety.  Ah,  Love  is  pensive, — is  it  not,  Cleveland?  How 
often  I  ask  myself  that  question!  And  yet,  amidst  all  my 
hopes,  there  are  hours  when  I  tremble  and  despond!  How 
can  that  innocent  and  joyous  spirit  sympathize  with  all  that 
mine  has  endured  and  known?  How,  even  though  her  imag- 
ination be  dazzled  by  some  prestige  around  my  name,  how  can 
I  believe  that  I  have  awakened  her  heart  to  that  deep  and  real 
love  of  which  it  is  capable,  and  which  youth  excites  in  youth? 
When  we  meet  at  her  home,  or  amidst  the  quiet  yet  brilliant 
society  which  is  gathered  round  Madame  de  Ventadour  or  the 
Montaignes,  with  whom  she  is  an  especial  favourite ;  when  we 
converse ;  when  I  sit  by  her,  and  her  soft  eyes  meet  mine,  —  I 
feel  not  the  disparity  of  years ;  my  heart  speaks  to  her,  and 
that  is  youthful  still!  But  in  the  more  gay  and  crowded 
haunts  to  which  her  presence  allures  me,  when  I  see  that 
fairy  form  surrounded  by  those  who  have  not  outlived  the 


310  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

pleasures  that  so  naturally  dazzle  and  captivate  her,  then, 
indeed,  I  feel  that  my  tastes,  my  habits,  my  pursuits,  belong 
to  another  season  of  life,  and  ask  myself  anxiously  if  my 
nature  and  ray  years  are  those  that  can  make  her  happy? 
Then,  indeed,  I  recognize  the  wide  interval  that  time  and 
trial  place  between  one  whom  the  world  has  wearied,  and  one 
for  whom  the  world  is  new.  If  she  should  discover  hereafter 
that  youth  should  love  only  youth,  my  bitterest  anguish  would 
be  that  of  remorse!  I  know  how  deeply  I  love  by  knowing 
how  immeasurably  dearer  her  happiness  is  than  my  own!  I 
will  wait,  then,  yet  a  while,  I  will  examine,  I  will  watch  well 
that  I  do  not  deceive  myself.  As  yet  I  think  that  I  have  no 
rivals  whom  I  need  fear:  surrounded  as  she  is  by  the  young- 
est and  the  gayest,  she  still  turns  with  evident  pleasure  to 
me,  whom  she  calls  her  friend.  She  will  forego  the  amuse- 
ments she  most  loves  for  society  in  which  we  can  converse 
more  at  ease.  You  remember,  for  instance,  young  Legard? 
He  is  here;  and,  before  I  met  Evelyn,  was  much  at  Lady 
Doltimore's  house.  I  cannot  be  blind  to  his  superior  advan- 
tages of  youth  and  person;  and  there  is  something  striking 
and  prepossessing  in  the  gentle  yet  manly  frankness  of  his 
manner,  —  and  yet  no  fear  of  his  rivalship  ever  haunts  me. 
True,  that  of  late  he  has  been  little  in  Evelyn's  society;  nor 
do  I  think,  in  the  frivolity  of  his  pursuits,  he  can  have  edu- 
cated his  mind  to  appreciate  Evelyn,  or  be  possessed  of  those 
qualities  which  would  render  him  worthy  of  her.  But  there 
is  something  good  in  the  young  man,  despite  his  foibles,  — 
something  that  wins  upon  me ;  and  you  will  smile  to  learn, 
that  he  has  even  surprised  from  me  —  usually  so  reserved  on 
such  matters  —  the  confession  of  my  attachment  and  hopes ! 
Evelyn  often  talks  to  me  of  her  mother,  and  describes  her  in 
colours  so  glowing  that  I  feel  the  greatest  interest  in  one  who 
has  helped  to  form  so  beautiful  and  pure  a  mind.  Can  you 
learn  who  Lady  Vargrave  was?  There  is  evidently  some  mys- 
tery thrown  over  her  birth  and  connections ;  and,  from  what 
I  can  hear,  this  arises  from  their  lowliness.  You  know  that, 
though  I  have  been  accused  of  family  pride,  it  is  a  pride  of  a 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  811 

peculiar  sort.  I  am  proud,  not  of  the  length  of  a  mouldering 
pedigree,  but  of  some  historical  quarterings  in  my  escutcheon, 
—  of  some  blood  of  scholars  and  of  heroes  that  rolls  in  my 
veins;  it  is  the  same  kind  of  pride  that  an  Englishman  may 
feel  in  belonging  to  a  country  that  has  produced  Shakspeare 
and  Bacon.  I  have  never,  I  hope,  felt  the  vulgar  pride  that 
disdains  want  of  birth  in  others ;  and  I  care  not  three  straws 
whether  my  friend  or  my  wife  be  descended  from  a  king  or  a 
peasant.  It  is  myself,  and  not  my  connections,  who  alone 
can  disgrace  my  lineage;  therefore,  however  humble  Lady 
Vargrave's  parentage,  do  not  scruple  to  inform  me,  should 
you  learn  any  intelligence  that  bears  upon  it. 

I  had  a  conversation  last  night  with  Evelyn  that  delighted 
me.  By  some  accident  we  spoke  of  Lord  Vargrave;  and  she 
told  me,  with  an  enchanting  candour,  of  the  position  in  which 
she  stood  with  him,  and  the  conscientious  and  noble  scruples 
she  felt  as  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  fortune,  which  her  bene- 
factor and  stepfather  had  evidently  intended  to  be  shared 
with  his  nearest  relative.  In  these  scruples  I  cordially  con- 
curred; and  if  I  marry  Evelyn,  my  first  care  will  be  to  carry 
them  into  effect,  —  by  securing  to  VargraVe,  as  far  as  the  law 
may  permit,  the  larger  part  of  the  income ;  I  should  like  to 
say  all,  — at  least  till  Evelyn's  children  would  have  the  right 
to  claim  it :  a  right  not  to  be  enforced  during  her  own,  and, 
therefore,  probably  not  during  Vargrave's  life.  I  own  that  this 
would  be  no  sacrifice,  for  I  am  proud  enough  to  recoil  from  the 
thought  of  being  indebted  for  fortune  to  the  woman  I  love. 
It  was  that  kind  of  pride  which  gave  coldness  and  constraint 
to  my  regard  for  Florence ;  and  for  the  rest,  my  own  propert}' 
(much  increased  by  the  simplicity  of  my  habits  of  life  for  the 
last  few  years)  will  suffice  for  all  Evelyn  or  myself  could  re- 
quire. Ah,  madman  that  I  am!  I  calculate  already  on  mar- 
riage, even  while  I  have  so  much  cause  for  anxiety  as  to  love. 
But  my  heart  beats,  —  my  heart  has  grown  a  dial  that  keeps 
the  account  of  time;  by  its  movements  I  calculate  the  mo- 
ments —  in  an  hour  I  shall  see  her ! 

Oh,  never,  never,  in  my  wildest  and  earliest  visions,  cculd 
I  have  fancied  that  I  should  love  as  I  love  now !    Adieu,  my 


312  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

oldest  and  kindest  friend!  If  I  am  happy  at  last,  it  will  be 
something  to  feel  that  at  last  I  shall  have  satisfied  your  ex- 
pectations of  my  youth. 

Affectionately  yours, 

E.  Maltravers. 

Rue  de .  Pabis, 

January  — ,  18 — . 


CHAPTER  II. 

In  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect  — 
Such  as  moves  men. — Measure  for  Measure. 

Abbess.      Haply  in  private  — 

Adriana.  And  in  assemblies  too.  —  Corned  if  of  Errors. 

It  "was  true,  as  Maltravers  had  stated,  that  Legard  had  of 
late  been  little  at  Lady  Doltimore's,  or  in  the  same  society  as 
Evelyn.  With  the  vehemence  of  an  ardent  and  passionate 
nature,  he  yielded  to  the  jealous  rage  and  grief  that  devoured 
him.  He  saw  too  clearly,  and  from  the  first,  that  Maltravers 
adored  Evelyn;  and  in  her  familiar  kindness  of  manner 
towards  him,  in  the  unlimited  veneration  in  which  she  ap- 
peared to  hold  his  gifts  and  qualities,  he  thought  that  that 
love  might  become  reciprocal.  He  became  gloomy  and  almost 
morose ;  he  shunned  Evelyn,  he  forbore  to  enter  into  the  lists 
against  his  rival.  Perhaps  the  intellectual  superiority  of 
Maltravers,  the  extraordinary  conversational  brilliancy  that 
he  could  display  when  he  pleased,  the  commanding  dignity  of 
his  manners,  even  the  matured  authority  of  his  reputation  and 
years,  might  have  served  to  awe  the  hopes,  as  well  as  to  wound 
the  vanity,  of  a  man  accustomed  himself  to  be  the  oracle  of  a 
circle.  These  might  have  strongly  influenced  Legard  in  with- 
drawing himself  from  Evelyn's  society ;  but  there  was  one  cir- 
cumstance, connected  with  motives  much  more  generous,  that 
mainly  determined  his  conduct.    It  happened  that  Maltravers, 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  813 

shortly  after  his  first  interview  with  Evelyn,  was  riding  alone 
one  day  in  the  more  sequestered  part  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
when  he  encountered  Legard,  also  alone,  and  on  horseback. 
The  latter,  on  succeeding  to  his  uncle's  fortune,  had  taken 
care  to  repay  his  debt  to  Maltravers;  he  had  done  so  in  a 
short  but  feeling  and  grateful  letter,  which  had  been  for- 
warded to  Maltravers  at  Paris,  and  which  pleased  and  touched 
him.  Since  that  time  he  had  taken  a  liking  to  the  young 
man,  and  now,  meeting  him  at  Paris,  he  sought,  to  a  certain 
extent,  Legard's  more  intimate  acquaintance.  Maltravers 
was  in  that  happy  mood  when  we  are  inclined  to  be  friends 
with  all  men.  It  is  true,  however,  that,  though  unknown  to 
himself,  that  pride  of  bearing,  which  often  gave  to  the  very 
virtues  of  Maltravers  an  unamiable  aspect,  occasionally  irri- 
tated one  who  felt  he  had  incurred  to  him  an  obligation  of 
honour  and  of  life  never  to  be  effaced;  it  made  the  sense  of 
this  obligation  more  intolerable  to  Legard;  it  made  him  more 
desirous  to  acquit  himself  of  the  charge.  But  on  this  day 
there  was  so  much  cordiality  in  the  greeting  of  Maltravers, 
and  he  pressed  Legard  in  so  friendly  a  manner  to  join  him  in 
his  ride,  that  the  young  man's  heart  was  softened,  and  they 
rode  together,  conversing  familiarly  on  such  topics  as  were  in 
common  between  them.  At  last  the  conversation  fell  on  Lord 
and  Lady  Doltimore ;  and  thence  Maltravers,  whose  soul  was 
full  of  one  thought,  turned  it  indirectly  towards  Evelyn. 

"Did  you  ever  see  Lady  Vargrave?  " 

"Never,"  replied  Legard,  looking  another  way;  "but  Lady 
Doltimore  says  she  is  as  beautiful  as  Evelyn  herself,  if  that 
be  possible;  and  still  so  young  in  form  and  countenance,  that 
she  looks  rather  like  her  sister  than  her  mother! " 

"  How  I  should  like  to  know  her !  "  said  Maltravers,  with  a 
sudden  energy. 

Legard  changed  the  subject.  He  spoke  of  the  Carnival,  of 
balls,  of  masquerades,  of  operas,  of  reigning  beauties ! 

"Ah,"  said  Maltravers,  with  a  half  sigh,  "yours  is  the 
age  for  those  dazzling  pleasures;  to  me  they  are  *  the  twice- 
told  tale.'" 

Maltravers  meant  it  not,  but  this  remark  chafed  Legard. 


314  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

He  thought  it  conveyed  a  sarcasm  on  the  childishness  of  his 
own  mind  or  the  levity  of  his  pursuits;  his  colour  mounted, 
as  he  replied,  — 

"  It  is  not,  I  fear,  the  slight  difference  of  years  between  us, 

—  it  is  the  difference  of  intellect  you  would  insinuate;  but 
you  should  remember  all  men  have  not  your  resources;  all 
men  cannot  pretend  to  genius !  " 

"My  dear  Legard,"  said  Maltravers,  kindly,  "do  not  fancy 
that  I  could  have  designed  any  insinuation  half  so  presump- 
tuous and  impertinent.  Believe  me,  I  envy  you,  sincerely 
and  sadly,  all  those  faculties  of  enjoyment  which  I  have  worn 
away.     Oh,  how  I  envy  you !  for,  were  they  still  mine,  then 

—  then,  indeed,  I  might  hope  to  mould  myself  into  greater 
congeniality  with  the  beautiful  and  the  young!  " 

Maltravers  paused  a  moment,  and  resumed,  with  a  grave 
smile :  "  I  trust,  Legard,  that  you  will  be  wiser  than  I  have 
been;  that  you  will  gather  your  roses  while  it  is  yet  May: 
and  that  you  will  not  live  to  thirty-six,  pining  for  happiness 
and  home,  a  disappointed  and  desolate  man;  till,  when  your 
ideal  is  at  last  found,  you  shrink  back  appalled,  to  discover 
that  you  have  lost  none  of  the  tendencies  to  love,  but  many 
of  the  graces  by  which  love  is  to  be  allured !  " 

There  was  so  much  serious  and  earnest  feeling  in  these 
words  that  they  went  home  at  once  to  Legard' s  sympathies. 
He  felt  irresistibly  impelled  to  learn  the  worst. 

"Maltravers,"  said  he,  in  a  hurried  tone,  "it  would  be  an 
idle  compliment  to  say  that  you  are  not  likely  to  love  in  vain; 
perhaps  it  is  indelicate  in  me  to  apply  a  general  remark;  and 
yet  —  yet  I  cannot  but  fancy  that  I  have  discovered  your 
secret,  and  that  you  are  not  insensible  to  the  charms  of  Miss 
Cameron ! " 

"Legard!"  said  Maltravers, — and  so  strong  was  his  fer- 
vent attachment  to  Evelyn,  that  it  swept  away  all  his  natural 
coldness  and  reserve,  —  "I  tell  you  plainly  and  frankly  that 
in  my  love  for  Evelyn  Cameron  lie  the  last  hopes  I  have  in 
life.  I  have  no  thought,  no  ambition,  no  sentiment  that  is 
not  vowed  to  her.  If  my  love  should  be  unreturned,  I  may 
strive  to  endure  the  blow,  I  may  mix  with  the  world,  I  may 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  315 

seem  to  occupy  myself  in  the  aims  of  others ;  but  my  heart 
will  be  broken !  Let  us  talk  of  this  no  more ;  you  have  sur- 
prised my  secret,  though  it  must  have  betrayed  itself.  Learn 
from  me  how  preternaturally  strong,  how  generally  fatal  is 
love  deferred  to  that  day  when  —  in  the  stern  growth  of  all 
the  feelings  —  love  writes  itself  on  granite !  " 

Maltravers,  as  if  impatient  of  his  own  weakness,  put  spurs 
to  his  horse,  and  they  rode  on  rapidly  for  some  time  without 
speaking. 

That  silence  was  employed  by  Legard  in  meditating  over 
all  he  had  heard  and  witnessed,  in  recalling  all  that  he  owed 
to  Maltravers;  and  before  that  silence  was  broken  the  young 
man  nobly  resolved  not  even  to  attempt,  not  even  to  hope,  a 
rivalry  with  Maltravers;  to  forego  all  the  expectations  he 
had  so  fondly  nursed,  to  absent  himself  from  the  company  of 
Evelyn,  to  requite  faithfully  and  firmly  that  act  of  generosity 
td  which  he  owed  the  preservation  of  his  life,  —  the  redemp- 
tion of  his  honour. 

Agreeably  to  this  determination,  he  abstained  from  visiting 
those  haunts  in  which  Evelyn  shone ;  and  if  accident  brought 
them  together,  his  manner  was  embarrassed  and  abrupt.  She 
wondered, —  at  last,  perhaps  she  resented,  —  it  may  be  that  she 
grieved;  for  certain  it  is  that  Maltravers  was  right  in  think- 
ing that  her  manner  had  lost  the  gayety  that  distinguished  it 
at  Merton  Rectory.  But  still  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
Evelyn  had  seen  enough  of  Legard,  and  whether  her  fancy 
and  romance  were  still  sufficiently  free  from  the  magical  influ- 
ences of  the  genius  that  called  them  forth  in  the  eloquent 
homage  of  Maltravers,  to  trace,  herself,  to  any  causes  con- 
nected with  her  younger  lover  the  listless  melancholy  that 
crept  over  her.  In  very  young  women  —  new  alike  to  the 
world  and  the  knowledge  of  themselves  —  many  vague  and 
undefined  feelings  herald  the  dawn  of  Love;  shade  after  shade 
and  light  upon  light  succeeds  before  the  sun  breaks  forth,  and 
the  earth  awakens  to  his  presence. 

It  was  one  evening  that  Legard  had  suffered  himself  to  be 

led  into  a  party  at  the ambassador's ;  and  there,  as  he 

stood  by  the  door,  he  saw  at  a  little  distance  Maltravers  con- 


316  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

versing  with  Evelyn.  Again  he  writhed  beneath  the  tortures 
of  his  jealous  anguish;  and  there,  as  he  gazed  and  suffered, 
he  resolved  (as  Maltravers  had  done  before  him)  to  fly  from 
the  place  that  had  a  little  while  ago  seemed  to  him  Elysium! 
He  would  quit  Paris,  he  would  travel,  he  would  not  see  Eve- 
lyn again  till  the  irrevocable  barrier  was  passed,  and  she  was 
the  wife  of  Maltravers !  In  the  first  heat  of  this  determina- 
tion, he  turned  towards  some  young  men  standing  near  him, 
one  of  whom  was  about  to  visit  Vienna.  He  gayly  proposed 
to  join  him,  —  a  proposal  readily  accepted,  and  began  convers- 
ing on  the  journey,  the  city,  its  splendid  and  proud  society, 
with  all  that  cruel  exhilaration  which  the  forced  spirits  of  a 
stricken  heart  can  alone  display,  when  Evelyn  (whose  confer- 
ence with  Maltravers  was  ended)  passed  close  by  him.  She 
was  leaning  on  Lady  Doltimore's  arm,  and  the  admiring  mur- 
mur of  his  companions  caused  Legard  to  turn  suddenly  round. 

"You  are  not  dancing  to-night.  Colonel  Legard,"  said  Caro- 
line, glancing  towards  Evelyn.  "The  more  the  season  for 
balls  advances,  the  more  indolent  you  become." 

Legard  muttered  a  confused  reply,  one  half  of  which 
seemed  petulant,  while  the  other  half  was  inaudible. 

"  Not  so  indolent  as  you  suppose, "  said  his  friend.  "  Legard 
meditates  an  excursion  sufficient,  I  hope,  to  redeem  his  char- 
acter in  your  eyes.  It  is  a  long  journey,  and,  what  is  worse, 
a  very  cold  journey,  to  Vienna." 

"  Vienna !  do  you  think  of  going  to  Vienna?  "  cried  Caroline. 

"Yes,"  said  Legard.  "I  hate  Paris;  any  place  better  than 
this  odious  city ! "  and  he  moved  away. 

Evelyn's  eyes  followed  him  sadly  and  gravely.  She  re- 
mained by  Lady  Doltimore's  side,  abstracted  and  silent  for 
several  minutes. 

Meanwhile  Caroline,  turning  to  Lord  Devonport  (the  friend 
who  had  proposed  the  Viennese  excursion),  said,  "  It  is  cruel 
in  you  to  go  to  Vienna,  —  it  is  doubly  cruel  to  rob  Lord 
Doltimore  of  his  best  friend  and  Paris  of  its  best  waltzer." 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  voluntary  offer  of  Legard's,  Lady  Doltimore, 
—  believe  me,  I  have  used  no  persuasive  arts.  But  the  fact 
is,  that  we  have  been  talking  of  a  fair  widow,  the  beauty  of 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  317 

Austria,  and  as  proud  and  as  unassailable  as  Ehrenbreitstein 
itself.  Legard's  vanity  is  piqued;  and  so  —  as  a  professed 
lady-killer  —  he  intends  to  see  what  can  be  effected  by  the 
handsomest  Englishman  of  his  time." 

Caroline  laughed,  and  new  claimants  on  her  notice  succeeded 
to  Lord  Devonport.  It  was  not  till  the  ladies  were  waiting 
their  carriage  in  the  shawl-room  that  Lady  Doltimore  noticed 
the  paleness  and  thoughtful  brow  of  Evelyn. 

"Are  you  fatigued  or  unwell,  dear?"  she  said. 

"No,"  answered  Evelyn,  forcing  a  smile;  and  at  that 
moment  they  were  joined  by  Maltravers,  with  the  intelli- 
gence that  it  would  be  some  minutes  before  the  carriage  could 
draw  up.  Caroline  amused  herself  in  the  interval  by  shrewd 
criticisms  on  the  dresses  and  characters  of  her  various  friends. 
Caroline  had  grown  an  amazing  prude  in  her  judgment  of 
others ! 

"  What  a  turban !  —  prudent  for  Mrs.  A to  wear,  — 

bright  red;  it  puts  out  her  face,  as  the  sun  puts  out  the  fire. 

Mr.  Maltravers,  do  observe  Lady  B with  that  very  young 

gentleman.  After  all  her  experience  in  angling,  it  is  odd  that 
she  should  still  only  throw  in  for  small  fish.    Pray,  why  is  the 

marriage  between  Lady  C D and  Mr.  F broken 

off?  Is  it  true  that  he  is  so  much  in  debt,  and  is  so  very  — 
very  profligate?    They  say  she  is  heartbroken." 

"Really,  Lady  Doltimore,"  said  Maltravers,  smiling,  "I 
am  but  a  bad  scandal-monger.  But  poor  F is  not,  I  be- 
lieve,  much  worse  than  others.     How  do  we  know  whose 

fault  it  is  when  a  marriage  is  broken  off?     Lady  C D 

heartbroken!  what  an  idea!  Nowadays  there  is  never  any 
affection  in  compacts  of  that  sort;  and  the  chain  that  binds 
the  frivolous  nature  is  but  a  gossamer  thread !  Fine  gentle- 
men and  fine  ladies,  their  loves  and  their  marriages  — 

" '  May  flourish  and  may  fade ; 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made.' 

Never  believe  that  a  heart  long  accustomed  to  beat  only  in 
good  society  can  be  broken,  — it  is  rarely  ever  touched!  " 
Evelyn  listened  attentively,  and  seemed  struck.    She  sighed, 


318  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  said  in  a  very  low  voice,  as  to  herself,  "  It  is  true  —  how 
could  I  think  otherwise?" 

For  the  next  few  days  Evelyn  was  unwell,  and  did  not  quit 
her  room.  Maltravers  was  in  despair.  The  flowers,  the 
books,  the  music  he  sent;  his  anxious  inquiries,  his  earnest 
and  respectful  notes,  touched  with  that  ineffable  charm  which 
Heart  and  Intellect  breathe  into  the  most  trifling  coinage  from 
their  mint,  —  all  affected  Evelyn  sensibly.  Perhaps  she  con- 
trasted them  with  Legard's  indifference  and  apparent  caprice ; 
perhaps  in  that  contrast  Maltravers  gained  more  than  by  all 
his  brilliant  qualities.  Meanwhile,  without  visit,  without  mes- 
sage, without  farewell,  —  unconscious,  it  is  true,  of  Evelyn's 
illness,  —  Legard  departed  for  Vienna. 


CHAPTEK  III. 

A  PLEASING  land     .    .    . 

Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye, 

And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
Forever  flashing  round  a  summer  sky.  —  Thomson. 

Daily,  hourly,  increased  the  influence  of  Evelyn  over 
Maltravers.  Oh,  what  a  dupe  is  a  man's  pride!  what  a  fool 
his  wisdom !  That  a  girl,  a  mere  child,  one  who  scarce  knew 
her  own  heart,  beautiful  as  it  was,  —  whose  deeper  feelings 
still  lay  coiled  up  in  their  sweet  buds,  —  that  she  should  thus 
master  this  proud,  wise  man!  But  as  thou  —  our  universal 
teacher  —  as  thou,  0  Shakspeare!  haply  speaking  from  the 
hints  of  thine  own  experience,  hast  declared  — 

"  None  are  so  truly  caught,  when  they  are  catched. 
As  wit  turned  fool ;  folly  in  wisdom  hatched, 
Hath  wisdom's  warrant." 

Still,  methinks  that,  in  that  surpassing  and  dangerously 
indulged  affection  which  levelled  thee,  Maltravers,  with  the 
weakest,  which  overturned  all  thy  fine  philosophy  of  Stoi- 
cism, and  made  thee  the  veriest  slave  of  the  "Eose  Garden," 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  319 

— still,  Maltravers,  thou  mightest  at  least  have  seen  that  thou 
hast  lost  forever  all  right  to  pride,  all  privilege  to  disdain  the 
herd!  But  thou  wert  proud  of  thine  own  infirmity !  And  far 
sharper  must  be  that  lesson  which  can  teach  thee  that  Pride 
—  thine  angel  —  is  ever  pre-doomed  to  fall. 

What  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  passions  are  strongest 
in  youth!  The  passions  are  not  stronger,  but  the  control  over 
them  is  weaker.  They  are  more  easily  excited,  they  are  more 
violent  and  more  apparent;  but  they  have  less  energy,  less 
durability,  less  intense  and  concentrated  power,  than  in 
maturer  life.  In  youth,  passion  succeeds  to  passion,  and 
one  breaks  upon  the  other,  as  waves  upon  a  rock,  till  the 
heart  frets  itself  to  repose.  In  manhood,  the  great  deep  flows 
on,  more  calm,  but  more  profound;  its  serenity  is  the  proof 
of  the  might  and  terror  of  its  course,  were  the  wind  to  blow 
and  the  storm  to  rise. 

A  young  man's  ambition  is  but  vanity,  —  it  has  no  definite 
aim,  it  plays  with  a  thousand  toys.  As  with  one  passion,  so 
with  the  rest.  In  youth.  Love  is  ever  on  the  wing,  but,  like 
the  birds  in  April,  it  hath  not  yet  built  its  nest.  With  so 
long  a  career  of  summer  and  hope  before  it,  the  disappoint- 
ment of  to-day  is  succeeded  by  the  novelty  of  to-morrow,  and 
the  sun  that  advances  to  the  noon  but  dries  up  its  fervent 
tears.  But  when  we  have  arrived  at  that  epoch  of  life,  — 
when,  if  the  light  fail  us,  if  the  last  rose  wither,  we  feel  that 
the  loss  cannot  be  retrieved,  and  that  the  frost  and  the  dark- 
ness are  at  hand,  Love  becomes  to  us  a  treasure  that  we  watch 
over  and  hoard  with  a  miser's  care.  Our  youngest-born  affec- 
tion is  our  darling  and  our  idol,  the  fondest  pledge  of  the 
Past,  the  most  cherished  of  our  hopes  for  the  Future.  A  cer- 
tain melancholy  that  mingles  with  our  joy  at  the  possession 
only  enhances  its  charm.  We  feel  ourselves  so  dependent  on 
it  for  all  that  is  yet  to  come.  Our  other  barks  —  our  gay  gal- 
leys of  pleasure,  our  stately  argosies  of  pride  —  have  been 
swallowed  up  by  the  remorseless  wave.  On  this  last  vessel 
we  freight  our  all,  to  its  frail  tenement  we  commit  ourselves. 
The  star  that  guides  it  is  our  guide,  and  in  the  tempest  that 
menaces  we  behold  our  own  doom ! 


320  ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Still  Maltravers  shrank  from  the  confession  that  trembled 
on  his  lips;  still  he  adhered  to  the  course  he  had  prescribed 
to  himself.  If  ever  (as  he  had  implied  in  his  letter  to  Cleve- 
land) —  if  ever  Evelyn  should  discover  they  were  not  suited 
to  each  other!  The  possibility  of  such  an  affliction  impressed 
his  judgment,  the  dread  of  it  chilled  his  heart.  With  all  his 
pride,  there  was  a  certain  humility  in  Maltravers  that  was 
perhaps  one  cause  of  his  reserve.  He  knew  what  a  beautiful 
possession  is  youth,  —  its  sanguine  hopes,  its  elastic  spirit,  its 
inexhaustible  resources!  What  to  the  eyes  of  woman  were 
the  acquisitions  which  manhood  had  brought  him,  —  the  vast 
but  the  sad  experience,  the  arid  wisdom,  the  philosophy  based 
on  disappointment?  He  might  be  loved  but  for  the  vain  glit- 
ter of  name  and  reputation,  — and  love  might  vanish  as  cus- 
tom dimmed  the  illusion.  Men  of  strong  affections  are  jeal- 
ous of  their  own  genius.  They  know  how  separate  a  thing 
from  the  household  character  genius  often  is,  —  they  fear  lest 
they  should  be  loved  for  a  quality,  not  for  themselves. 

Thus  communed  he  with  himself;  thus,  as  the  path  had 
become  clear  to  his  hopes,  did  new  fears  arise;  and  thus  did 
love  bring,  as  it  ever  does,  in  its  burning  wake,  — 

"  The  pang,  the  agony,  the  doubt ! " 

Maltravers  then  confirmed  himself  in  the  resolution  he  had 
formed:  he  would  cautiously  examine  Evelyn  and  himself;  he 
would  weigh  in  the  balance  every  straw  that  the  wind  should 
turn  up;  he  would  not  aspire  to  the  treasure,  unless  he  could 
feel  secure  that  the  coffer  could  preserve  the  gem.  This  was 
not  only  a  prudent,  it  was  a  just  and  a  generous  determina- 
tion. It  was  one  which  we  all  ought  to  form  if  the  fervour 
of  our  passions  will  permit  us.  We  have  no  right  to  sacrifice 
years  to  moments,  and  to  melt  the  pearl  that  has  no  price  in 
a  single  draught !  But  can  Maltravers  adhere  to  his  wise  pre- 
cautions? The  truth  must  be  spoken,  — it  was,  perhaps,  the 
first  time  in  his  life  that  Maltravers  had  been  really  in  love. 

As  the  reader  will  remember,  he  had  not  been  in  love  with 
the  haughty  Florence;  admiration,  gratitude, — the  affection 
of  the  head,  not  that  of  the  feelings,  —  had  been  the  links  that 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  321 

bound  him  to  the  enthusiastic  correspondent  revealed  in  the 
gifted  beauty;  and  the  gloomy  circumstances  connected  with 
her  early  fate  had  left  deep  furrows  in  his  memory.  Time 
and  vicissitude  had  effaced  the  wounds,  and  the  Light  of  the 
Beautiful  dawned  once  more  in  the  face  of  Evelyn.  Valerie 
de  Ventadour  had  been  but  the  fancy  of  a  roving  breast. 
Alice,  the  sweet  Alice  I  —  her,  Indeed,  in  the  first  flower  of 
youth,  he  had  loved  with  a  boy's  romance.  He  had  loved 
her  deeply,  fondly,  —  but  perhaps  he  had  never  been  in  love 
with  her;  he  had  mourned  her  loss  for  years,  — insensibly  to 
himself  her  loss  had  altered  his  character  and  cast  a  melan- 
choly gloom  over  all  the  colours  of  his  life.  But  she  whose 
range  of  ideas  was  so  confined,  she  who  had  but  broke  into 
knowledge,  as  the  chrysalis  into  the  butterfly  —  how  much  in 
that  prodigal  and  gifted  nature,  bounding  onwards  into  the 
broad  plains  of  life,  must  the  peasant  girl  have  failed  to  fill ! 
They  had  had  nothing  in  common  but  their  youth  and  their 
love.  It  was  a  dream  that  had  hovered  over  the  poet-boy  in 
the  morning  twilight,  — a  dream  he  had  often  wished  to  recall, 
a  dream  that  had  haunted  him  in  the  noon-day,  —  but  had,  as 
all  boyish  visions  ever  have  done,  left  the  heart  unexhausted, 
and  the  passions  unconsumed !  Years,  long  years,  since  then 
had  rolled  away,  and  yet,  perhaps,  one  unconscious  attraction 
that  drew  Maltravers  so  suddenly  towards  Evelyn  was  a  some- 
thing indistinct  and  undefinable  that  reminded  him  of  Alice. 
There  was  no  similarity  in  their  features;  but  at  times  a  tone 
in  Evelyn's  voice,  a  "trick  of  the  manner,"  an  air,  a  gesture, 
recalled  him,  over  the  gulfs  of  Time,  to  Poetry,  and  Hope, 
and  Alice. 

In  the  youth  of  each  —  the  absent  and  the  present  one  — 
there  was  resemblance,  —  resemblance  in  their  simplicity, 
their  grace.  Perhaps  Alice,  of  the  two,  had  in  her  nature 
more  real  depth,  more  ardour  of  feeling,  more  sublimity  of 
sentiment,  than  Evelyn.  But  in  her  primitive  ignorance  half 
her  noblest  qualities  were  embedded  and  unknown.  And 
Evelyn  —  his  equal  in  rank;  Evelyn,  well  cultivated;  Eve- 
lyn, so  long  courted,  so  deeply  studied  —  had  such  advantages 
over  the  poor  peasant  girl !     Still  the  poor  peasant  girl  often 

21 


322  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

seemed  to  smile  on  him  from  tliat  fair  face  j  and  in  Evelyn  lie 
half  loved  Alice  again ! 

So  these  two  persons  now  met  daily ;  their  intercourse  was 
even  more  familiar  than  before,  their  several  minds  grew 
hourly  more  developed  and  transparent  to  each  other.  But 
of  love  Maltravers  still  forbore  to  speak ;  they  were  friends, 
—  no  more ;  such  friends  as  the  disparity  of  their  years  and 
their  experience  might  warrant  them  to  be.  And  in  that 
young  and  innocent  nature  —  with  its  rectitude,  its  enthusi- 
asm, and  its  pious  and  cheerful  tendencies  —  Maltravers  found 
freshness  in  the  desert,  as  the  camel -driver  lingering  at  the 
well.  Insensibly  his  heart  warmed  again  to  his  kind;  and 
as  the  harp  of  David  to  the  ear  of  Saul,  was  the  soft  voice 
that  lulled  remembrance  and  awakened  hope  in  the  lonely 
man. 

Meanwhile,  what  was  the  effect  that  the  presence,  the  at- 
tentions, of  Maltravers  produced  on  Evelyn?  Perhaps  it 
was  of  that  kind  which  most  flatters  us  and  most  deceives. 
She  never  dreamed  of  comparing  him  with  others.  To  her 
thoughts  he  stood  aloof  and  alone  from  all  his  kind.  It  may 
s6em  a  paradox,  but  it  might  be  that  she  admired  and  ven- 
erated him  almost  too  much  for  love.  Still  her  pleasure  in 
his  society  was  so  evident  and  unequivocal,  sher  deference  to 
his  opinion  so  marked,  she  sympathized  in  so  many  of  his 
objects,  she  had  so  much  blindness  or  forbearance  for  his 
faults  (and  he  never  sought  to  mask  them),  that  the  most 
diffident  of  men  might  have  drawn  from  so  many  symptoms 
hopes  the  most  auspicious.  Since  the  departure  of  Legard, 
the  gayeties  of  Paris  lost  their  charm  for  Evelyn,  and  more 
than  ever  she  could  appreciate  the  society  of  her  friend.  He 
thus  gradually  lost  his  earlier  fears  of  her  forming  too  keen 
an  attachment  to  the  great  world;  and  as  nothing  could  be 
more  apparent  than  Evelyn's  indifference  to  the  crowd  of 
flatterers  and  suitors  that  hovered  round  her,  Maltravers  no 
longer  dreaded  a  rival.  He  began  to  feel  assured  that  they 
had  both  gone  through  the  ordeal;  and  that  he  might  ask  for 
love  without  a  doubt  of  its  immutability  and  faith.  At  this 
period  they  were  both  invited,  with  the  Doltimores,  to  spend 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  323 

a  few  days  at  the  villa  of  De  Montaigne,  near  St.  Cloud. 
And  there  it  was  that  Maltravers  determined  to  know  his 
fate! 


CHAPTER  IV. 
Chaos  of  Thought  and  Passion  all  confused.  —  Pope. 

It  is  to  the  contemplation  of  a  very  different  scene  that  the 
course  of  our  story  now  conducts  us. 

Between  St.  Cloud  and  Versailles  there  was  at  that  time  — 
perhaps  there  still  is  —  a  lone  and  melancholy  house,  appro- 
priated to  the  insane,  —  melancholy,  not  from  its  site,  but  the 
purpose  to  which  it  is  devoted.  Placed  on  an  eminence,  the 
windows  of  the  mansion  command  —  beyond  the  gloomy  walls 
that  gird  the  garden  ground  —  one  of  those  enchanting  prospects 
which  win  for  France  her  title  to  La  Belle.  There  the  glori- 
ous Seine  is  seen  in  the  distance,  broad  and  winding  through 
the  varied  plains,  and  beside  the  gleaming  villages  and  villas. 
There,  too,  beneath  the  clear  blue  sky  of  France,  the  forest- 
lands  of  Versailles  and  St.  Germains  stretch  in  dark  luxuri- 
ance around  and  afar.  There  you  may  see  sleeping  on  the 
verge  of  the  landscape  the  mighty  city,  —  crowned  with  the 
thousand  spires  from  which,  proud  above  the  rest,  rises  the 
eyry  of  Napoleon's  eagle,  the  pinnacle  of  Notre  Dame. 

Remote,  sequestered,  the  place  still  commands  the  survey 
of  the  turbulent  world  below;  and  Madness  gazes  upon  pros- 
pects that  might  well  charm  the  thoughtful  eyes  of  Imagina- 
tion or  of  Wisdom!  In  one  of  the  rooms  of  this  house  sat 
Castruccio  Cesarini.  The  apartment  was  furnished  even  with 
elegance;  a  variety  of  books  strewed  the  table;  nothing  for 
comfort  or  for  solace  that  the  care  and  providence  of  affection 
could  dictate  was  omitted.  Cesarini  was  alone :  leaning  his 
cheek  upon  his  hand,  he  gazed  on  the  beautiful  and  tranquil 
view  we  have  described.     "  And  am  I  never  to  set  a  free  foot 


324  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

on  that  soil  again?"  lie  muttered  indignantly,  as  lie  broke 
from  his  revery. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  keeper  of  the  sad  abode  (a  surgeon 
of  humanity  and  eminence)  entered,  followed  by  De  Mon- 
taigne. Cesarini  turned  round  and  scowled  upon  the  latter; 
the  surgeon,  after  a  few  words  of  salutation,  withdrew  to  a 
corner  of  the  room,  and  appeared  absorbed  in  a  book.  De 
Montaigne  approached  his  brother-in-law,  —  "I  have  brought 
you  some  poems  just  published  at  Milan,  my  dear  Castruccio, 
—  they  will  please  you." 

"  Give  me  my  liberty !  "  cried  Cesarini,  clenching  his  hands. 
"Why  am  I  to  be  detained  here?  Why  are  my  nights  to  be 
broken  by  the  groans  of  maniacs,  and  my  days  devoured  in  a 
solitude  that  loathes  the  aspect  of  things  around  me?  Am  / 
mad?  You  know  I  am  not!  It  is  an  old  trick  to  say  that 
poets  are  mad,  — you  mistake  our  agonies  for  insanity.  See, 
I  am  calm ;  I  can  reason :  give  me  any  test  of  sound  mind  — 
no  matter  how  rigid  —  I  will  pass  it;  I  am  not  mad,  —  I  swear 
I  am  not !  " 

"No,  my  dear  Castruccio,"  said  De  Montaigne,  soothingly; 
"  but  you  are  still  unwell,  —  you  still  have  fever ;  when  next 
I  see  you  perhaps  you  may  be  recovered  sufficiently  to  dis- 
miss the  doctor  and  change  the  air.  Meanwhile  is  there  any- 
thing you  would  have  added  or  altered?  " 

Cesarini  had  listened  to  this  speech  with  a  mocking  sarcasm 
on  his  lip,  but  an  expression  of  such  hopeless  wretchedness  in 
his  eyes,  as  they  alone  can  comprehend  who  have  witnessed 
madness  in  its  lucid  intervals.  He  sank  down,  and  his  head 
drooped  gloomily  on  his  breast.  "No,"  said  he;  "I  want 
nothing  but  free  air  or  death,  — no  matter  which." 

De  Montaigne  stayed  some  time  with  the  unhappy  man, 
and  sought  to  soothe  him ;  but  it  was  in  vain.  Yet  when  he 
rose  to  depart,  Cesarini  started  up,  and  fixing  on  him  his  large 
wistful  eyes,  exclaimed,  "Ah  !  do  not  leave  me  yet.  It  is  so 
dreadful  to  be  alone  with  the  dead  and  the  worse  than  dead! " 

The  Frenchman  turned  aside  to  wipe  his  eyes,  and  stifle  the 
rising  at  his  heart;  and  again  he  sat,  and  again  he  sought  to 
soothe.     At  length  Cesarini,  seemingly  more  calm,  gave  him 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  325 

leave  to  depart.  *'  Go, "  said  he,  *'  go ;  tell  Teresa  I  am  better, 
that  I  love  her  tenderly,  that  I  shall  live  to  tell  her  children 
not  to  be  poets.  Stay,  you  asked  if  there  was  aught  I  wished 
changed ;  yes,  this  room ;  it  is  too  still :  I  hear  my  own  pulse 
beat  so  loudly  in  the  silence,  it  is  horrible !  There  is  a  room 
below,  by  the  window  of  which  there  is  a  tree,  and  the  winds 
rock  its  boughs  to  and  fro,  and  it  sighs  and  groans  like  a  liv- 
ing thing;  it  will  be  pleasant  to  look  at  that  tree,  and  see  the 
birds  come  home  to  it,  —  yet  that  tree  is  wintry  and  blasted 
too!  It  will  be  pleasant  to  hear  it  fret  and  chafe  in  the 
stormy  nights;  it  will  be  a  friend  to  me,  that  old  tree!  let 
me  have  that  room.  Nay,  look  not  at  each  other,  —  it  is  not 
so  high  as  this ;  but  the  window  is  barred,  —  I  cannot 
escape !  "     And  Cesarini  smiled. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  surgeon,  "if  you  prefer  that  room; 
but  it  has  not  so  fine  a  view." 

"  I  hate  the  view  of  the  world  that  has  cast  me  off.  When 
may  I  change?" 

"This  very  evening." 

"Thank  you;  it  will  be  a  great  revolution  in  my  life." 

And  Cesarini's  eyes  brightened,  and  he  looked  happy.  De 
Montaigne,  thoroughly  unmanned,  tore  himself  away. 

The  promise  was  kept,  and  Cesarini  was  transferred  that 
night  to  the  chamber  he  had  selected. 

As  soon  as  it  was  deep  night,  the  last  visit  of  the  keeper 
paid,  and,  save  now  and  then,  by  some  sharp  cry  in  the  more 
distant  quarter  of  the  house,  all  was  still,  Cesarini  rose  from 
his  bed;  a  partial  light  came  from  the  stars  that  streamed 
through  the  frosty  and  keen  air,  and  cast  a  sickly  gleam 
through  the  heavy  bars  of  the  casement.  It  was  then  that 
Cesarini  drew  from  under  his  pillow  a  long-cherished  and 
carefully-concealed  treasure.  Oh,  with  what  rapture  had  he 
first  possessed  himself  of  it!  with  what  anxiety  had  it  been 
watched  and  guarded !  how  many  cunning  stratagems  and  pro- 
found inventions  had  gone  towards  the  baffling  the  jealous 
search  of  the  keeper  and  his  myrmidons!  The  abandoned 
and  wandering  mother  never  clasped  her  child  more  fondly 
to  her  bosom,  nor  gazed  upon  his  features  with  more  passion- 


326  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

ate  visions  for  the  future.  And  what  had  so  enchanted  the 
poor  prisoner,  so  deluded  the  poor  maniac?  A  large  nail! 
He  had  found  it  accidentally  in  the  garden ;  he  had  hoarded 
it  for  weeks,  —  it  had  inspired  him  with  the  hope  of  liberty. 
Often,  in  the  days  far  gone,  he  had  read  of  the  wonders  that 
had  been  effected,  of  the  stones  removed,  and  the  bars  filed, 
by  the  self-same  kind  of  implement.  He  remembered  that 
the  most  celebrated  of  those  bold  unfortunates  who  live  a  life 
against  the  law,  had  said,  "Choose  my  prison,  and  give  me 
but  a  rusty  nail,  and  I  laugh  at  your  jailers  and  your  walls !" 
He  crept  to  the  window;  he  examined  his  relic  by  the  dim 
starlight;  he  kissed  it  passionately,  and  the  tears  stood  in  his 
eyes. 

Ah,  who  shall  determine  the  worth  of  things?  No  king 
that  night  so  prized  his  crown  as  the  madman  prized  that 
rusty  inch  of  wire,  —  the  proper  prey  of  the  rubbish-cart  and 
dunghill.  Little  didst  thou  think,  old  blacksmith,  when  thou 
drewest  the  dull  metal  from  the  fire,  of  what  precious  price  it 
was  to  become! 

Cesarini,  with  the  astuteness  of  his  malady,  had  long 
marked  out  this  chamber  for  the  scene  of  his  operations; 
he  had  observed  that  the  framework  in  which  the  bars  were 
set  seemed  old  and  worm-eaten ;  that  the  window  was  but  a 
few  feet  from  the  ground ;  that  the  noise  made  in  the  winter 
nights  by  the  sighing  branches  of  the  old  tree  without  would 
deaden  the  sound  of  the  lone  workman.  Now,  then,  his 
hopes  were  to  be  crowned.  Poor  fool!  and  even  thou  hast 
hope  still!  All  that  night  he  toiled  and  toiled,  and  sought 
to  work  his  iron  into  a  file;  now  he  tried  the  bars,  and  now 
the  framework.  Alas !  he  had  not  learned  the  skill  in  such 
tools,  possessed  by  his  renowned  model  and  inspirer;  the 
flesh  was  worn  from  his  fingers,  the  cold  drops  stood  on  his 
brow ;  and  morning  surprised  him,  advanced  not  a  hair-breadth 
in  his  labour. 

He  crept  back  to  bed,  and  again  hid  the  useless  implement, 
and  at  last  he  slept. 

And,  night  after  night,  the  same  task,  the  same  results! 
But  at  length,  one  day,  when  Cesarini  returned  from  his 


•ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  827 

moody  walk  in  the  gardens  (pleasure-gronnds  they  were  called 
by  the  owner),  he  found  better  workmen  than  he  at  the  win- 
dow; they  were  repairing  the  framework,  they  were  strength- 
ening the  bars,  —  all  hope  was  now  gone !  The  unfortunate 
said  nothing;  too  cunning  to  show  his  despair  he  eyed  them 
silently,  and  cursed  them ;  but  the  old  tree  was  left  still,  and 
that  was  something,  —  company  and  music. 

A  day  or  two  after  this  barbarous  counterplot,  Cesarini  was 
walking  in  the  gardens  towards  the  latter  part  of  the  after- 
noon (just  when  in  the  short  days  the  darkness  begins  to  steal 
apace  over  the  chill  and  western  sun),  when  he  was  accosted 
by  a  fellow-captive,  who  had  often  before  sought  his  acquaint- 
ance ;  for  they  try  to  have  friends,  —  those  poor  people !  Even 
we  do  the  same;  though  we  say  we  are  not  mad!  This  man 
had  been  a  warrior,  had  served  with  Napoleon,  had  received 
honours  and  ribbons,  —  might,  for  aught  we  know,  have 
dreamed  of  being  a  marshal!  But  the  demon  smote  him  in 
the  hour  of  his  pride.  It  was  his  disease  to  fancy  himself  a 
monarch.  He  believed,  for  he  forgot  chronology,  that  he  was 
at  once  the  Iron  Mask,  and  the  true  sovereign  of  France  and 
Navarre,  confined  in  state  by  the  usurpers  of  his  crown.  On 
other  points  he  was  generally  sane;  a  tall,  strong  man,  with 
fierce  features,  and  stern  lines,  wherein  could  be  read  many 
a  bloody  tale  of  violence  and  wrong,  of  lawless  passions,  of 
terrible  excesses,  to  which  madness  might  be  at  once  the  con- 
summation and  the  curse.  This  man  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
Cesarini ;  and,  in  some  hours  Cesarini  had  shunned  him  less 
than  others, — for  they  could  alike  rail  against  all  living 
things.  The  lunatic  approached  Cesarini  with  an  air  of  dig- 
nity and  condescension. 

"  It  is  a  cold  night,  sir,  —  and  there  will  be  no  moon.  Has 
it  never  occurred  to  you  that  the  winter  is  the  season  for 
escape?" 

Cesarini  started;  the  ex-officer  continued,  — 

"Ay,  I  see  by  your  manner  that  you,  too,  chafe  at  our 
ignominious  confinement.  I  think  that  together  we  might 
brave  the  worst.  You  probably  are  confined  on  some  state 
offence.     I  give  you  full  pardon,  if  you  assist  me.     For  my- 


328  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

self  I  have  but  to  appear  in  my  capital;  old  Louis  le  Grand 
must  be  near  his  last  hour." 

"  This  madman  my  best  companion ! "  thought  Cesarini, 
revolting  at  his  own  infirmity,  as  Gulliver  started  from  the 
Yahoo.     "  No  matter,  he  talks  of  escape. 

"And  how  think  you,"  said  the  Italian,  aloud, — "how 
think  you,  that  we  have  any  chance  of  deliverance?" 

"Hush,  speak  lower,"  said  the  soldier.  "In  the  inner 
garden,  I  have  observed  for  the  last  two  days  that  a  gardener 
is  employed  in  nailing  some  fig-trees  and  vines  to  the  wall. 
Between  that  garden  and  these  grounds  there  is  but  a  paling, 
which  we  can  easily  scale.  He  works  till  dusk;  at  the  latest 
hour  we  can,  let  us  climb  noiselessly  over  the  paling,  and 
creep  along  the  vegetable  beds  till  we  reach  the  man.  He 
uses  a  ladder  for  his  purpose ;  the  rest  is  clear,  —  we  must 
fell  and  gag  him, — twist  his  neck  if  necessary, — I  have 
twisted  a  neck  before,"  quoth  the  maniac,  with  a  horrid  smile. 
"The  ladder  will  help  us  over  the  wall,  and  the  night  soon 
grows  dark  at  this  season." 

Cesarini  listened,  and  his  heart  beat  quick.  "Will  it  be 
too  late  to  try  to-night?"  said  he  in  a  whisper. 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  the  soldier,  who  retained  all  his  mili- 
tary acuteness.  "But  are  you  prepared,  — don't  you  require 
time  to  man  yourself?  " 

"No  —  no,  — I  have  had  time  enough!  — I  am  ready." 

"Well,  then,  — hist!  — we  are  watched  —  one  of  the  jailers! 
Talk  easily,  smile,  laugh.     This  way." 

They  passed  by  one  of  the  watch  of  the  place,  and  just  as 
they  were  in  his  hearing,  the  soldier  turned  to  Cesarini,  "  Sir, 
will  you  favour  me  with  your  snuff-box?  " 

"J  have  none." 

"None?  what  a  pity!  My  good  friend,"  and  he  turned  to 
the  scout,  "may  I  request  you  to  look  in  my  room  for  my 
snuff-box?  It  is  on  the  chimney-piece,  —  it  will  not  take  you 
a  minute." 

The  soldier  was  one  of  those  whose  insanity  was  deemed 
most  harmless,  and  his  relations,  who  were  rich  and  well- 
born, had  requested  every  indulgence  to  be  shown  to  him. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  329 

Tlie  watch  suspected  nothing,  and  repaired  to  the  house.  As 
soon  as  the  trees  hid  him,  — "Now,"  said  the  soldier,  "stoop 
almost  on  all  fours,  and  run  quick." 

So  saying  the  maniac  crouched  low,  and  glided  along  with 
a  rapidity  which  did  not  distance  Cesarini.  They  reached  the 
paling  that  separated  the  vegetable  garden  from  the  pleasure- 
ground;  the  soldier  vaulted  over  it  with  ease,  Cesarini  with 
more  difficulty  followed.  They  crept  along;  the  herbs  and 
vegetable  beds,  with  their  long  bare  stalks,  concealed  their 
movements;  the  man  was  still  on  the  ladder.  "Xa  bonne 
Esperance!"  said  the  soldier  through  his  ground  teeth,  mut- 
tering some  old  watchword  of  the  wars,  and  (while  Cesarini, 
below,  held  the  ladder  steadfast)  he  rushed  up  the  steps,  and 
with  a  sudden  effort  of  his  muscular  arm,  hurled  the  gardener 
to  the  ground.  The  man,  surprised,  half  stunned,  and  wholly 
terrified,  did  not  attempt  to  wrestle  with  the  two  madmen, — 
he  uttered  loud  cries  for  help !  But  help  came  too  late ;  these 
strange  and  fearful  comrades  had  already  scaled  the  wall, 
had  dropped  on  the  other  side,  and  were  fast  making  across 
the  dusky  fields  to  the  neighbouring  forest. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Hopes  and  Fears 
Start  np  alarmed,  and  o'er  life's  narrow  verge 
Look  down  :  on  what  ? — a  fathomless  abyss  !  —  Young. 

Midnight  —  and  intense  frost !  There  they  were  —  house- 
less and  breadless  —  the  two  fugitives,  in  the  heart  of  that 
beautiful  forest  which  has  rung  to  the  horns  of  many  a  royal 
chase.  The  soldier,  whose  youth  had  been  inured  to  hard- 
ships, and  to  the  'conquests  which  our  mother-wit  wrings  from 
the  stepdame  Nature,  had  made  a  fire  by  the  friction  of  two 
pieces  of  dry  wood ;  such  wood  was  hard  to  be  found,  for  the 
snow  whitened  the  level  ground,  and  lay  deep  in  the  hollows ; 


330  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  when  it  was  discovered,  the  fuel  was  slow  to  burn ;  how- 
ever, the  fire  blazed  red  at  last.  On  a  little  mound,  shaded 
by  a  semicircle  of  huge  trees,  sat  the  Outlaws  of  Human  Rea- 
son. They  cowered  over  the  blaze  opposite  to  each  other,  and 
the  glare  crimsoned  their  features.  And  each  in  his  heart 
longed  to  rid  himself  of  his  mad  neighbour;  and  each  felt  the 
awe  of  solitude,  —  the  dread  of  sleep  beside  a  comrade  whose 
soul  had  lost  God's  light ! 

"  Ho ! "  said  the  warrior,  breaking  a  silence  that  had  been 
long  kept,  "  this  is  cold  work  at  the  best,  and  hunger  pinches 
me;  I  almost  regret  the  prison." 

"I  do  not  feel  the  cold,"  said  Cesarini,  "and  I  do  not  care 
for  hunger :  I  am  revelling  only  in  the  sense  of  liberty ! " 

"Try  and  sleep,"  quoth  the  soldier,  with  a  coaxing  and 
sinister  softness  of  voice;  "we  will  take  it  by  turns  to 
watch." 

"I  cannot  sleep,  — take  you  the  first  turn." 

"Hark  ye,  sir!"  said  the  soldier  sullenly;  "I  must  not 
have  my  commands  disputed;  now  we  are  free,  we  are  no 
longer  equal :  I  am  heir  to  the  crowns  of  France  and  Navarre. 
Sleep,  I  say! " 

"And  what  Prince  or  Potentate,  King  or  Kaiser,"  cried 
Cesarini,  catching  the  quick  contagion  of  the  fit  that  had 
seized  his  comrade,  "  can  dictate  to  the  monarch  of  Earth  and 
Air,  the  Elements  and  the  music-breathing  Stars?  I  am 
Cesarini  the  Bard!  and  the  huntsman  Orion  halts  in  his 
chase  above  to  listen  to  my  lyre!  Be  stilled,  rude  man!  — 
thou  scarest  away  the  angels,  whose  breath  even  now  was 
rushing  through  my  hair !  " 

"It  is  too  horrible!  "  cried  the  grim  man  of  blood,  shiver- 
ing; "my  enemies  are  relentless,  and  give  me  a  madman  for 
a  jailer ! " 

"  Ha !  a  madman ! "  exclaimed  Cesarini,  springing  to  his 
feet,  and  glaring  at  the  soldier  with  eyes  that  caught  and 
rivalled  the  blaze  of  the  fire.  "And  who  are  you?  —  what 
devil  from  the  deep  hell,  that  art  leagued  with  my  persecu- 
tors against  me?" 

With  the  instinct  of  his  old  calling  and  valour,  the  soldier 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  831 

also  rose  when  he  saw  the  movement  of  his  companion;  and 
his  fierce  features  worked  with  rage  and  fear. 

"  Avaunt!  "  said  he,  waving  his  arm;  "we  banish  thee  from 
our  presence!  This  is  our  palace!  —  and  our  guards  are  at 
hand !  "  pointing  to  the  still  and  skeleton  trees  that  grouped 
round  in  ghastly  bareness.     "Begone!  " 

At  that  moment  they  heard  at  a  distance  the  deep  barking 
of  a  dog,  and  each  cried  simultaneously,  "  They  are  after  me ! 
—  betrayed !  "  The  soldier  sprang  at  the  throat  of  Cesarini ; 
but  the  Italian,  at  the  same  instant,  caught  a  half-burned 
brand  from  the  fire,  and  dashed  the  blazing  end  in  the  face  of 
his  assailant.  The  soldier  uttered  a  cry  of  pain,  and  recoiled 
back,  blinded  and  dismayed.  Cesarini,  whose  madness,  when 
fairly  roused,  was  of  the  most  deadly  nature,  again  raised  his 
weapon,  and  probably  nothing  but  death  could  have  separated 
the  foes ;  but  again  the  bay  of  the  dog  was  heard,  and  Cesarini, 
answering  the  sound  by  a  wild  yell,  threw  down  the  brand, 
and  fled  away  through  the  forest  with  inconceivable  swift- 
ness. He  hurried  on  through  bush  and  dell,  —  and  the 
boughs  tore  his  garments  and  mangled  his  'flesh, — but 
stopped  not  his  progress  till  he  fell  at  last  on  the  ground, 
breathless  and  exhausted,  and  heard  from  some  far-off  clock 
the  second  hour  of  morning.  He  had  left  the  forest ;  a  farm- 
house stood  before  him,  and  the  whitened  roofs  of  scattered 
cottages  sloped  to  the  tranquil  sky.  The  witness  of  man  — 
the  social  tranquil  sky  and  the  reasoning  man  —  operated  like 
a  charm  upon  the  senses  which  recent  excitement  had  more 
than  usually  disturbed.  The  unhappy  wretch  gazed  at  the 
peaceful  abodes,  and  sighed  heavily;  then,  rising  from  the 
earth,  he  crept  into  one  of  the  sheds  that  adjoined  the  farm- 
house, and  throwing  himself  on  some  straw,  slept  sound  and 
quietly  till  daylight,  and  the  voices  of  peasants  in  the  shed 
awakened  him. 

He  rose  refreshed,  calm,  and,  for  ordinary  purposes,  suffi- 
ciently sane  to  prevent  suspicion  of  his  disease.  He  ap- 
proached the  startled  peasants,  and  representing  himself  as 
a  traveller  who  had  lost  his  way  in  the  night  and  amidst  the 
forest,  begged   for  food  and  water.     Though  his  garments 


332  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

were  torn,  they  were  new  and  of  good  fashion;  his  voice  was 
mild;  his  whole  appearance  and  address  those  of  one  of  some 
station  —  and  the  French  peasant  is  a  hospitable  fellow. 
Cesarini  refreshed  and  rested  himself  an  hour  or  two  at  the 
farm,  and  then  resumed  his  wanderings ;  he  offered  no  money, 
for  the  rules  of  the  asylum  forbade  money  to  its  inmates,  — 
he  had  none  with  him ;  but  none  was  expected  from  him,  and 
they  bade  him  farewell  as  kindly  as  if  he  had  bought  their 
blessings.  He  then  began  to  consider  where  he  was  to  take 
refuge,  and  how  provide  for  himself;  the  feeling  of  liberty 
braced,  and  for  a  time  restored,  his  intellect. 

Fortunately,  he  had  on  his  person,  besides  some  rings  of 
trifling  cost,  a  watch  of  no  inconsiderable  value,  the  sale  of 
which  might  support  him,  in  such  obscure  and  humble  quar- 
ter as  he  could  alone  venture  to  inhabit,  for  several  weeks, 
perhaps  months.  This  thought  made  him  cheerful  and  elated; 
he  walked  lustily  on,  shunning  the  high  road.  The  day  was 
clear,  the  sun  bright,  the  air  full  of  racy  health.  Oh,  what 
soft  raptures  swelled  the  heart  of  the  wanderer,  as  he  gazed 
around  him!  The  Poet  and  the  Freeman  alike  stirred  within 
his  shattered  heart !  He  paused  to  contemplate  the  berries  of 
the  icy  trees,  to  listen  to  the  sharp  glee  of  the  blackbird;  and 
once  —  when  he  found  beneath  a  hedge  a  cold,  scentless  group 
of  hardy  violets  —  he  laughed  aloud  in  his  joy.  In  that  laugh- 
ter there  was  no  madness,  no  danger;  but  when  as  he  jour- 
neyed on,  he  passed  through  a  little  hamlet,  and  saw  the 
children  at  play  upon  the  ground,  and  heard  from  the  open 
door  of  a  cabin  the  sound  of  rustic  music,  then  indeed  he 
paused  abruptly;  the  past  gathered  over  him:  he  knew  that 
which  he  had  been,  that  which  he  was  now  !  —  an  awful  mem- 
ory! a  dread  revelation!  And,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands,  he  wept  aloud.  In  those  tears  were  the  peril  and 
method  of  madness.  He  woke  from  them  to  think  of  his 
youth,  his  hopes,  of  Florence,  of  revenge!  Lumley  Lord 
Vargrave!  better,  from  that  hour,  to  encounter  the  tiger  in 
his  lair  than  find  thyself  alone  with  that  miserable  man ! 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  838 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  seemed  the  lanrel  chaste  and  stubborn  oak, 
And  all  the  gentle  trees  on  earth  that  grew, 
It  seemed  the  land,  the  sea,  and  heaven  above, 
All  breathed  out  fancy  sweet,  and  sighed  out  love. 

Fairfax's  Tasso. 

At  De  Montaigne's  villa,  Evelyn,  for  tlie  first  time,  gath- 
ered from  the  looks,  the  manners,  of  Maltravers  that  she  was 
beloved.  It  was  no  longer  possible  to  mistake  the  evidences 
of  affection.  Formerly,  Maltravers  had  availed  himself  of 
his  advantage  of  years  and  experience,  and  would  warn,  ad- 
monish, dispute,  even  reprove;  formerly,  there  had  been  so 
much  of  seeming  caprice,  of  cold  distance,  of  sudden  and  way- 
ward haughtiness,  in  his  bearing;  but  now  the  whole  man 
was  changed,  —  the  Mentor  had  vanished  in  the  Lover ;  he 
held  his  being  on  her  breath.  Her  lightest  pleasure  seemed 
to  have  grown  his  law,  no  coldness  ever  alternated  the  deep 
devotion  of  his  manner ;  an  anxious,  a  timid,  a  watchful  soft- 
ness replaced  all  his  stately  self-possession.  Evelyn  saw  that 
she  was  loved ;  and  she  then  looked  into  her  own  heart. 

I  have  said  before  that  Evelyn  was  gentle,  even  to  yielding- 
ness  ;  that  her  susceptibility  made  her  shrink  from  the  thouglit 
of  pain  to  another:  and  so  thoroughly  did  she  revere  Maltrav- 
ers, so  grateful  did  she  feel  for  a  love  that  could  not  but  flat- 
ter pride,  and  raise  her  in  her  self-esteem,  that  she  felt  it 
impossible  that  she  could  reject  his  suit.  "  Then,  do  I  love 
him  as  I  dreamed  I  could  love?"  she  asked  herself;  and  her 
heart  gave  no  intelligible  reply.  "Yes,  it  must  be  so;  in  his 
presence  I  feel  a  tranquil  and  eloquent  charm ;  his  praise  de- 
lights me ;  his  esteem  is  my  most  high  ambition ;  —  and  yet 
—  and  yet  —  "  she  sighed  and  thought  of  Legard ;  "  but  he 
loved  me  not!"  and  she  turned  restlessly  from  that  image. 
"He  thinks   but  of  the  world,  of  pleasure;   Maltravers   is 


334  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

right,  —  the  spoiled  children  of  society  cannot  love :  why 
should  I  think  of  him?" 

There  were  no  guests  at  the  villa,  except  Maltravers, 
Evelyn,  and  Lord  and  Lady  Doltimore.  Evelyn  was  much 
captivated  by  the  graceful  vivacity  of  Teresa,  though  that 
vivacity  was  not  what  it  had  been  before  her  brother's  afflic- 
tion; their  children,  some  of  whom  had  grown  up,  constituted 
an  amiable  and  intelligent  family ;  and  De  Montaigne  himself 
was  agreeable  and  winning,  despite  his  sober  manners  and  his 
love  of  philosophical  dispute.  Evelyn  often  listened  thought- 
fully to  Teresa's  praises  of  her  husband,  — to  her  account  of 
the  happiness  she  had  known  in  a  marriage  where  there  had 
been  so  great  a  disparity  of  years ;  Evelyn  began  to  question 
the  truth  of  her  early  visions  of  romance. 

Caroline  saw  the  unequivocal  attachment  of  Maltravers  with 
the  same  indifference  with  which  she  had  anticipated  the  suit 
of  Legard.  It  was  the  same  to  her  what  hand  delivered  Eve- 
lyn and  herself  from  the  designs  of  Vargrave;  but  Vargrave 
occupied  nearly  all  her  thoughts.  The  newspapers  had  re- 
ported him  as  seriously  ill,  —  at  one  time  in  great  danger. 
He  was  now  recovering,  but  still  unable  to  quit  his  room. 
He  had  written  to  her  once,  lamenting  his  ill-fortune,  trust- 
ing soon  to  be  at  Paris ;  and  touching,  with  evident  pleasure, 
upon  Legard's  departure  for  Vienna,  which  he  had  seen  in  the 
"Morning  Post."  But  he  was  afar — alone,  ill,  untended; 
and  though  Caroline's  guilty  love  had  been  much  abated  by 
Vargrave's  icy  selfishness,  by  absence  and  remorse,  still  she  had 
the  heart  of  a  woman,  —  and  Vargrave  was  the  only  one  that 
had  ever  touched  it.  She  felt  for  him,  and  grieved  in  silence; 
she  did  not  dare  to  utter  sympathy  aloud,  for  Doltimore  had 
already  given  evidence  of  a  suspicious  and  jealous  temper. 

Evelyn  was  also  deeply  affected  by  the  account  of  her  guar- 
dian's illness.  As  I  before  said,  the  moment  he  ceased  to  be 
her  lover,  her  childish  affection  for  him  returned.  She  even 
permitted  herself  to  write  to  him;  and  a  tone  of  melancholy 
depression  which  artfully  pervaded  his  reply  struck  her  with 
something  like  remorse.  He  told  her  in  the  letter  that  he 
had  much  to  say  to  her  relative  to  an  investment,  in  conform- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  335 

ity  with  her  stepfather's  wishes,  and  he  should  hasten  to 
Paris,  even  before  the  doctor  would  sanction  his  removal. 
Vargrave  forbore  to  mention  what  the  meditated  investment 
was.  The  last  public  accounts  of  the  minister  had,  however, 
been  so  favourable,  that  his  arrival  might  be  almost  daily 
expected;  and  both  Caroline  and  Evelyn  felt  relieved. 

To  De  Montaigne,  Maltravers  confided  his  attachment,  and 
both  the  Frenchman  and  Teresa  sanctioned  and  encouraged  it. 
Evelyn  enchanted  them;  and  they  had  passed  that  age  when 
they  could  have  imagined  it  possible  that  the  man  they  had 
known  almost  as  a  boy  was  separated  by  years  from  the  lively 
feelings  and  extreme  youth  of  Evelyn.  They  could  not  be- 
lieve that  the  sentiments  he  had  inspired  were  colder  than 
those  that  animated  himself. 

One  day,  Maltravers  had  been  absent  for  some  hours  on  his 
solitary  rambles,  and  De  Montaigne  had  not  yet  returned  from 
Paris,  which  he  visited  almost  daily.  It  was  so  late  in  the 
noon  as  almost  to  border  on  evening,  when  Maltravers,  on  his 
return,  entered  the  grounds  by  a  gate  that  separated  them 
from  an  extensive  wood.  He  saw  Evelyn,  Teresa,  and  two 
of  her  children  walking  on  a  terrace  immediately  before  him. 
He  joined  them ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  it  soon  chanced  that 
Teresa  and  himself  loitered  behind  the  rest,  a  little  out  of 
hearing.  "Ah,  Mr.  Maltravers,"  said  the  former,  "we  miss 
the  soft  skies  of  Italy  and  the  beautiful  hues  of  Como." 

"  And,  for  my  part,  I  miss  the  youth  that  gave  '  glory  to 
the  grass  and  splendour  to  the  flower. '  " 

"Nay;  we  are  happier  now,  believe  me, — or  at  least  I 
should  be,  if —  But  I  must  not  think  of  my  poor  brother. 
Ah,  if  his  guilt  deprived  you  of  one  who  was  worthy  of  you, 
it  would  be  some  comfort  to  his  sister  to  think  at  last  that  the 
loss  was  repaired.     And  you  still  have  scruples?  " 

"Who  that  loves  truly  has  not?  How  young,  how  lovely, 
how  worthy  of  lighter  hearts  and  fairer  forms  than  mine! 
Give  me  back  the  years  that  have  passed  since  we  last  met  at 
Como,  and  I  might  hope !  " 

"  And  this  to  me  who  have  enjoyed  such  happiness  with  one 
older,  when  we  married,  by  ten  years  than  you  are  now !  " 


886  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

"  But  you,  Teresa,  were  born  to  see  life  through  the  Claude 
glass." 

"Ah,  you  provoke  me  with  these  refinements;  you  turn 
from  a  happiness  you  have  but  to  demand." 

"Do  not  —  do  not  raise  my  hopes  too  high,"  cried  Mal- 
travers,  with  great  emotion;  "I  have  been  schooling  myself 
all  day.     But  if  I  am  deceived!  " 

"  Trust  me,  you  are  not.  See,  even  now  she  turns  round  to 
look  for  you;  she  loves  you,  — loves  you  as  you  deserve.  This 
difference  of  years  that  you  so  lament  does  but  deepen  and  ele- 
vate her  attachment! " 

Teresa  turned  to  Maltravers,  surprised  at  his  silence.  How 
joyous  sat  his  heart  upon  his  looks,  —  no  gloom  on  his  brow, 
no  doubt  in  his  sparkling  eyes!  He  was  mortal,  and  he 
yielded  to  the  delight  of  believing  himself  beloved.  He 
pressed  Teresa's  hand  in  silence,  and,  quitting  her  abruptly, 
gained  the  side  of  Evelyn.  Madame  de  Montaigne  compre- 
hended all  that  passed  within  him ;  and  as  she  followed,  she 
soon  contrived  to  detach  her  children,  and  returned  with  them 
to  the  house  on  a  whispered  pretence  of  seeing  if  their  father 
had  yet  arrived.  Evelyn  and  Maltravers  continued  to  walk 
on,  —  not  aware,  at  first,  that  the  rest  of  the  party  were  not 
close  behind. 

The  sun  had  set;  and  they  were  in  a  part  of  the  grounds 
which,  by  way  of  contrast  to  the  rest,  was  laid  out  in  the 
English  fashion ;  the  walk  wound,  serpent-like,  among  a  pro- 
fusion of  evergreens  irregularly  planted;  the  scene  was  shut 
in  and  bounded,  except  where  at  a  distance,  through  an  open- 
ing of  the  trees,  you  caught  the  spire  of  a  distant  church,  over 
which  glimmered,  faint  and  fair,  the  smile  of  the  evening 
star. 

"This  reminds  me  of  home,"  said  Evelyn,  gently. 

"And  hereafter  it  will  remind  me  of  you,"  said  Maltravers, 
in  whispered  accents.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  as  he  spoke. 
Never  had  his  look  been  so  true  to  his  heart;  never  had  his 
voice  so  undisguisedly  expressed  the  profound  and  passionate 
sentiment  which  had  sprung  up  within  him,  — to  constitute, 
as  he  then  believed,  the  latest  bliss,  or  the  crowning  misery, 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  337 

of  his  life !  At  that  moment,  it  was  a  sort  of  instinct  that 
told  him  they  were  alone  ;  for  who  has  not  felt  —  in  those  few 
and  memorable  hours  of  life  when  love  long  suppressed  over- 
flows the  fountain,  and  seems  to  pervade  the  whole  frame  and 
the  whole  spirit  —  that  there  is  a  magic  around  and  within  us 
that  hath  a  keener  intelligence  than  intellect  itself?  Alone 
at  such  an  hour  with  the  one  we  love,  the  whole  world  besides 
seems  to  vanish,  and  our  feet  to  have  entered  the  soil,  and  our 
lips  to  have  caught  the  air,  of  Fairyland. 

They  were  alone.  And  why  did  Evelyn  tremble?  Why 
did  she  feel  that  a  crisis  of  existence  was  at  hand? 

"  Miss  Cameron  —  Evelyn, "  said  Maltravers,  after  they  had 
walked  some  moments  in  silence,  "hear  me  —  and  let  your 
reason  as  well  as  your  heart  reply.  From  the  first  moment 
we  met,  you  became  dear  to  me.  Yes,  even  when  a  child, 
your  sweetness  and  your  fortitude  foretold  so  well  what  you 
would  be  in  womanhood;  even  then  you  left  upon  my  mem- 
ory a  delightful  and  mysterious  shadow,  —  too  prophetic  of 
the  light  that  now  hallows  and  wraps  your  image!  We  met 
again,  —  and  the  attraction  that  had  drawn  me  towards  you 
years  before  was  suddenly  renewed.  I  love  you,  Evelyn!  I 
love  you  better  than  all  words  can  tell!  Your  future  fate, 
your  welfare,  your  happiness,  contain  and  embody  all  the 
hopes  left  to  me  in  life!  But  our  years  are  different,  Evelyn; 
I  have  known  sorrows, — and  the  disappointments  and  the 
experience  that  have  severed  me  from  the  common  world  have 
robbed  me  of  more  than  time  itself  hath  done.  They  have 
robbed  me  of  that  zest  for  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  our  race, 
—  which  may  it  be  yours,  sweet  Evelyn,  ever  to  retain !  To 
me,  the  time  foretold  by  the  Preacher  as  the  lot  of  age  has 
already  arrived,  when  the  sun  and  the  moon  are  darkened, 
and  when,  save  in  you  and  through  you,  I  have  no  pleasure 
in  anything.  Judge,  if  such  a  being  you  can  love!  Judge, 
if  my  very  confession  does  not  revolt  and  chill,  if  it  does  not 
present  to  you  a  gloomy  and  cheerless  future,  were  it  possible 
that  you  could  unite  your  lot  to  mine!  Answer  not  from 
friendship  or  from  pity;  the  love  I  feel  for  you  can  have  a 
reply  from  love  alone,  and  from  that  reasoning  which  love,  in 

22 


838  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

its  enduring  power,  in  its  healthful  confidence,  in  its  pro- 
phetic foresight,  alone  supplies !  I  can  resign  you  without  a 
murmur;  but  I  could  not  live  with  you  and  even  fancy  that 
you  had  one  care  I  could  not  soothe,  though  you  might  have 
happiness  I  could  not  share.  And  fate  does  not  present  to 
me  any  vision  so  dark  and  terrible  —  no,  not  your  loss  itself; 
no,  not  your  indifference;  no,  not  your  aversion  —  as  your 
discovery,  after  time  should  m?ke  regret  in  vain,  that  you 
had  mistaken  fancy  or  friendship  for  affection,  a  sentiment  for 
love.  Evelyn,  I  have  confided  to  you  all,  —  all  this  wild 
heart,  now  and  evermore  your  own.  My  destiny  is  with 
you." 

Evelyn  was  silent;  he  took  her  hand,  and  her  tears  fell 
warm  and  fast  upon  it.  Alarmed  and  anxious,  he  drew  her 
towards  him  and  gazed  upon  her  face. 

"You  fear  to  wound  me,"  he  said,  with  pale  lips  and  trem- 
bling voice.     "  Speak  on,  —  I  can  bear  all." 

*'No,  no,"  said  Evelyn,  f alteringl}'^ ;  "I  have  no  fear  but 
not  to  deserve  you." 

"  You  love  me,  then,  —  you  love  me ! "  cried  Maltravers 
wildly,  and  clasping  her  to  his  heart. 

The  moon  rose  at  that  instant,  and  the  wintry  sward  and 
the  dark  trees  were  bathed  in  the  sudden  light.  The  time  — 
the  light  —  so  exquisite  to  all,  even  in  loneliness  and  in  sor- 
row—  how  divine  in  such  companionship!  in  such  overflow- 
ing and  ineffable  sense  of  bliss !  There  and  then  for  the  first 
time  did  Maltravers  press  upon  that  modest  and  blushing 
cheek  the  kiss  of  Love,  of  Hope,  —  the  seal  of  a  union  he 
fondly  hoped  the  grave  itself  could  not  dissolve! 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  339 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Queen.      Whereon  do  you  look  ? 

Hamlet.   On  him,  on  him,  —  look  you  how  pale  he  glares  !  —  Hamlet. 

Perhaps  to  Maltravers  those  few  minutes  which  ensued,  as 
they  walked  slowly  on,  compensated  for  all  the  troubles  and 
cares  of  years ;  for  natures  like  his  feel  joy  even  yet  more  in- 
tensely than  sorrow.  It  might  be  that  the  transport,  the  delir- 
ium of  passionate  and  grateful  thoughts  that  he  poured  forth, 
when  at  last  he  could  summon  words,  expressed  feelings  the 
young  Evelyn  could  not  comprehend,  and  which  less  delighted 
than  terrified  her  with  the  new  responsibility  she  had  incurred. 
But  love  so  honest,  so  generous,  so  intense,  dazzled  and  be- 
wildered and  carried  her  whole  soul  away.  Certainly  at  that 
hour  she  felt  no  regret  —  no  thought  but  that  one  in  whom 
she  had  so  long  recognized  something  nobler  than  is  found  in 
the  common  world  was  thus  happy  and  thus  made  happy  by  a 
word,  a  look  from  her!  Such  a  thought  is  woman's  dearest 
triumph ;  and  one  so  thoroughly  unselfish,  so  yielding,  and  so 
soft,  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  rapture  she  had  caused. 

"  And  oh !  "  said  Maltravers,  as  he  clasped  again  and  again 
the  hand  that  he  believed  he  had  won  forever,  "  now,  at  length, 
have  I  learned  how  beautiful  is  life !  For  this  —  for  this  I 
have  been  reserved!  Heaven  is  merciful  to  me,  and  the  wak- 
ing world  is  brighter  than  all  my  dreams !  " 

He  ceased  abruptly.  At  that  instant  they  were  once  more 
on  the  terrace  where  he  had  first  joined  Teresa,  facing  the 
wood,  which  was  divided  by  a  slight  and  low  palisade  from 
the  spot  where  they  stood.  He  ceased  abruptly,  for  his  eyes 
encountered  a  terrible  and  ominous  apparition,  —  a  form  con- 
nected with  dreary  associations  of  fate  and  woe.  The  figure 
had  raised  itself  upon  a  pile  of  firewood  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fence,  and  hence  it  seemed  almost  gigantic  in  its  stature. 
It  gazed  upon  the  pair  with  eyes  that  burned  with  a  preter- 


840  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

natural  blaze,  and  a  voice  which  Maltravers  too  well  remem- 
bered shrieked  out  "Love!  love!  What!  thou  love  again? 
Where  is  the  Dead!     Ha,  ha!     Where  is  the  Dead?" 

Evelyn,  startled  by  the  words,  looked  up,  and  clung  in 
speechless  terror  to  Maltravers.  He  remained  rooted  to  the 
spot. 

"Unhappy  man,"  said  he,  at  length,  and  soothingly,  "how 
came  you  hither?     Fly  not,  you  are  with  friends." 

"Friends!"  said  the  maniac,  with  a  scornful  laugh.  "I 
know  thee,  Ernest  Maltravers,  —  I  know  thee :  but  it  is  not 
thou  who  hast  locked  me  up  in  darkness  and  in  hell,  side  by 
side  with  the  mocking  fiend!  Friends!  ah,  but  no  Friends 
shall  catch  me  now !  I  am  free !  I  am  free !  Air  and  wave 
are  not  more  free !  "  And  the  madman  laughed  with  horrible 
glee.  "She  is  fair  —  fair,"  he  said,  abruptly  checking  him- 
self, and  with  a  changed  voice,  "  but  not  so  fair  as  the  Dead. 
Faithless  that  thou  art  —  and  yet  she  loved  thee!  Woe  to 
thee!  woe!  Maltravers,  the  perfidious!  Woe  to  thee  —  and 
remorse  —  and  shame ! " 

"Fear  not,  Evelyn, — fear  not,"  whispered  Maltravers, 
gently,  and  placing  her  behind  him;  "support  your  cour- 
age, —  nothing  shall  harm  you. " 

Evelyn,  though  very  pale,  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot, 
retained  her  senses.  Maltravers  advanced  towards  the  mad- 
man. But  no  sooner  did  the  quick  eye  of  the  last  perceive 
the  movement,  than,  with  the  fear  which  belongs  to  that 
dread  disease,  — the  fear  of  losing  liberty,  — he  turned,  and 
with  a  loud  cry  fled  into  the  wood.  Maltravers  leaped  over 
the  fence,  and  pursued  him  some  way  in  vain.  The  thick 
copses  of  the  wood  snatched  every  trace  of  the  fugitive  from 
his  eye. 

Breathless  and  exhausted,  Maltravers  returned  to  the  spot 
where  he  had  left  Evelyn.  As  he  reached  it,  he  saw  Teresa 
and  her  husband  approaching  towards  him,  and  Teresa's 
merry  laugh  sounded  clear  and  musical  in  the  racy  air.  The 
sound  appalled  him;  he  hastened  his  steps  to  Evelyn, 

"  Say  nothing  of  what  we  have  seen  to  Madame  de  Mon- 
taigne, I  beseech  you,"  said  he;  "I  will  explain  why  here- 
after." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  341 

Evelyn,  too  overcome  to  speak,  nodded  her  acquiescence. 
They  joined  the  De  Montaignes,  and  Maltravers  took  the 
Frenchman  aside. 

But  before  he  could  address  him,  De  Montaigne  said,  — 

"  Hush !  do  not  alarm  my  wife  —  she  knows  nothing ;  but  I 
have  just  heard  at  Paris,  that  —  that  he  has  escaped  —  you 
know  whom  I  mean?  " 

"I  do;  he  is  at  hand;  send  in  search  of  him!  I  have  seen 
him.     Once  more  I  have  seen  Castruccio  Cesarini! " 


BOOK    IX. 


A?  o?"  T<tt'  ijSri  Sia<p<u/Tj.  —  Sophocles  :  (Ed.  Tyr.  754. 
"  Woe,  woe :  all  things  are  clear." 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  privilege  that  statesmen  ever  claim, 
Who  private  interest  never  yet  pursued, 
But  still  pretended  't  was  for  others'  good. 

From  hence  on  every  humorous  wind  that  veered 
With  shifted  sails  a  several  course  you  steered. 

Absalom  and  Achitophel,  Part  ii. 

Lord  Vargrave  had  for  more  than  a  fortnight  remained  at 
the  inn  at  M ,  too  ill  to  be  removed  with  safety  in  a  sea- 
son so  severe.  Even  when  at  last,  by  easy  stages,  he  reached 
London,  he  was  subjected  to  a  relapse ;  and  his  recovery  was 
slow  and  gradual.  Hitherto  unused  to  sickness,  he  bore  his 
confinement  with  extreme  impatience ;  and  against  the  com- 
mands of  his  physician  insisted  on  continuing  to  transact  his 
official  business,  and  consult  with  his  political  friends  in  his 
sick-room;  for  Lumley  knew  well,  that  it  is  most  pernicious 
to  public  men  to  be  considered  failing  in  health,  —  turkeys 
are  not  more  unfeeling  to  a  sick  brother  than  politicians  to 
an  ailing  statesman ;  they  give  out  that  his  head  is  touched, 
and  see  paralysis  and  epilepsy  in  every  speech  and  every  de- 
spatch. The  time,  too,  nearly  ripe  for  his  great  schemes, 
made  it  doubly  necessary  that  he  should  exert  himself,  and 
prevent  being  shelved  with  a  plausible  excuse  of  tender  com- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  343 

passion  for  his  infirmities.  As  soon  therefore  as  he  learned 
that  Legard  had  left  Paris,  he  thought  himself  safe  for  a 
while  in  that  quarter,  and  surrendered  his  thoughts  wholly  to 
his  ambitious  projects.  Perhaps,  too,  with  the  susceptible 
vanity  of  a  middle-aged  man,  who  has  had  his  bonnes  fortunes, 
Lumley  deemed,  with  Rousseau,  that  a  lover,  pale  and  hag- 
gard —  just  raised  from  the  bed  of  suffering  —  is  more  inter- 
esting to  friendship  than  attractive  to  love.  He  and  Rousseau 
were,  I  believe,  both  mistaken;  but  that  is  a  matter  of  opin- 
ion :  they  both  thought  very  coarsely  of  women,  —  one  from 
having  no  sentiment,  and  the  other  from  having  a  sentiment 
that  was  but  a  disease.  At  length,  just  as  Lumley  was  suffi- 
ciently recovered  to  quit  his  house,  to  appear  at  his  office,  and 
declare  that  his  illness  had  wonderfully  improved  his  consti- 
tution, intelligence  from  Paris,  the  more  startling  from  being 
wholly  unexpected,  reached  him.  From  Caroline  he  learned 
that  Maltravers  had  proposed  to  Evelyn,  and  been  accepted. 
From  Maltravers  himself  he  heard  the  confirmation  of  the 
news.  The  last  letter  was  short,  but  kind  and  manly.  He 
addressed  Lord  Vargrave  as  Evelyn's  guardian;  slightly 
alluded  to  the  scruples  he  had  entertained  till  Lord  Var- 
grave's  suit  was  broken  off;  and  feeling  the  subject  too  deli- 
cate for  a  letter,  expressed  a  desire  to  confer  with  Lumley 
respecting  Evelyn's  wishes  as  to  certain  arrangements  in  her 
property. 

And  for  this  was  it  that  Lumley  had  toiled!  for  this  had  he 
visited  Lisle  Court!  and  for  this  had  he  been  stricken  down 
to  the  bed  of  pain!  Was  it  only  to  make  his  old  rival  the 
purchaser,  if  he  so  pleased  it,  of  the  possessions  of  his  own 
family?  Lumley  thought  at  that  moment  less  of  Evelyn  than 
of  Lisle  Court.  As  he  woke  from  the  stupor  and  the  first  fit 
of  rage  into  which  these  epistles  cast  him,  the  recollection  of 
the  story  he  had  heard  from  Mr.  Onslow  flashed  across  him. 
Were  his  suspicions  true,  what  a  secret  he  would  possess! 
How  fate  might  yet  befriend  him!  Not  a  moment  was  to  be 
lost.  Weak,  suffering  as  he  still  was,  he  ordered  his  carriage, 
and  hastened  down  to  Mrs.  Leslie. 

In   the  interview  that  took  place,  he  was  careful  not  to 


344  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

alarm  her  into  discretion.  He  managed  the  conference  with 
his  usual  consummate  dexterity.  He  did  not  appear  to  believe 
that  there  had  been  any  actual  connection  between  Alice  and 
the  supposed  Butler.  He  began  by  simply  asking  whether 
Alice  had  ever,  in  early  life,  been  acquainted  with  a  person 
of  that  name,  and  when  residing  in   the  neighbourhood  of 

.     The  change  of  countenance,   the    surprised   start  of 

Mrs.  Leslie,  convinced  him  that  his  suspicions  were  true. 

''And  why  do  you  ask,  my  lord?"  said  the  old  lady.  "Is 
it  to  ascertain  this  point  that  you  have  done  me  the  honour  to 
visit  me?" 

"Not   exactly,    my  dear   madam,"  said    Lumley,   smiling. 

"But  I  am  going  to  C on  business;  and  besides  that  I 

wished  to  give  an  account  of  your  health  to  Evelyn,  whom 
I  shall  shortly  see  at  Paris,  1  certainly  did  desire  to  know 
whether  it  would  be  any  gratification  to  Lady  Vargrave,  for 
whom  I  have  the  deepest  regard,  to  renew  her  acquaintance 
with  the  said  Mr.  Butler." 

"  What  does  your  lordship  know  of  him?  What  is  he;  who 
is  he?" 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady,  you  turn  the  tables  on  me,  I  see,  —  for 
my  one  question  you  would  give  me  fifty.  But,  seriously, 
before  I  answer  you,  you  miist  tell  me  whether  Lady  Vargrave 
does  know  a  gentleman  of  that  name;  yet,  indeed,  to  save 
trouble,  I  may  as  well  inform  you,  that  I  know  it  was  under 

that  name  that  she  resided  at  C ,  when  my  poor  uncle  first 

made  her  acquaintance.  What  I  ought  to  ask  is  this,  —  sup- 
posing Mr.  Butler  be  still  alive,  and  a  gentleman  of  character 
and  fortune,  would  it  please  Lady  Vargrave  to  meet  with  him 
once  more?" 

"1  cannot  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie,  sinking  back  in  her 
chair,  much  embarrassed.  ^ 

"  Enough,  I  shall  not  stir  further  in  the  matter.  Glad  to 
see  you  looking  so  well.  Fine  place,  beautiful  trees.  Any 
commands  at  C ,  or  any  message  for  Evelyn?" 

Lumley  rose  to  depart. 

"Stay,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie,  recalling  all  the  pining,  restless, 
untiring  love  that  Lady  Vargrave  had  manifested  towards  the 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  846 

lost,  and  feeling  that  she  ought  not  to  sacrifice  to  slight  scru- 
ples the  chance  of  happiness  for  her  friend's  future  years,  — 
"stay;  I  think  this  question  you  should  address  to  Lady  Var- 
grave,  — or  shall  1?" 

"As  you  will, — perhaps  I  had  better  write.  Good-day," 
and  Vargrave  hurried  away. 

He  had  satisfied  himself,  but  he  had  another  yet  to  satisfy, 
—  and  that,  from  certain  reasons  known  but  to  himself,  with- 
out bringing  the  third  person  in  contact  with  Lady  Vargrave. 

On  arriving  at  C he  wrote,  therefore,  to  Lady  Vargrave 

as  follows :  — 

My  dear  Friend,  —  Do  not  think  me  impertinent  or  intrusive  — 
but  you  know  me  too  well  for  that.     A  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Butler 

is  exceedingly  anxious  to  ascertain  if  you  once  lived  near ,  in  a 

pretty  little  cottage,  —  Dove,  or  Dale,  or  Dell  cottage  (some  such  appel- 
lation),—  and  if  you  remember  a  person  of  his  name.      Should   you 
care  to  give  a  reply  to  these  queries,  send  me  a  line  addressed  to  Lon- 
don, which  1  shall  get  on  my  way  to  Paris. 
Yours  most  truly, 

Vargrave. 

As  soon  as  he  had  concluded,  and  despatched  this  letter, 
Vargrave  wrote  to  Mr.  Winsley  as  follows ;  — 

My  dear  Sir,  —  I  am  so  unwell  as  to  be  unable  to  call  on  you,  or 
even  to  see  any  one,  however  agreeable  (nay,  the  more  agreeable  the 
more  exciting  1).     I  hope,  however,  to  renew  our  personal  acquaintance 

before  quitting  C .     Meanwhile,  oblige  me  with  a  line  to  say  if  I  did 

not  understand  you  to  signify  that  you  could,  if  necessary,  prove  that 
Lady  Vargrave  once  resided  in  this  town  as  Mrs.  Butler,  a  very  short 
time  before  she  married  my  uncle,  under  the  name  of  Cameron,  in  Dev- 
onshire ;  and  had  she  not  also  at  that  time  a  little  girl,  —  an  infant,  or 
nearly  so,  —  who  must  necessarily  be  the  young  lady  who  is  my  uncle's 
heiress.  Miss  Evelyn  Cameron.  My  reason  for  thus  troubling  you  is 
obvious.  As  Miss  Cameron's  guardian,  1  have  very  shortly  to  wind  up 
certain  affairs  connected  with  my  uncle's  will ;  and,  what  is  more,  there 
is  some  property  bequeathed  by  the  late  Mr.  Butler,  which  may  make  it 
necessary  to  prove  identity. 

Truly  yours, 

Vargrave. 


846  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

The  answer  to  the  latter  communication  ran  thus :  — 

"  My  Lord,  —  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  your  lordship  is  so  unwell,  and 
will  pay  my  respects  to-morrow.     1  certainly  can  swear  that  the  present 

Lady  Vargrave  was  the  Mrs.  Butler  who  resided  at  C ,  and  taught 

music.  And  as  the  child  with  her  was  of  the  same  sex,  and  about  the 
same  age  as  Miss  Cameron,  there  can,  I  should  think,  be  no  difficulty  in 
establishing  the  identity  between  that  young  lady  and  the  child  Lady 
Vargrave  had  by  her  first  husband,  Mr.  Butler ;  but  of  this,  of  course, 
I  cannot  speak. 

"  I  have  the  honour,  etc." 

The  next  morning  Vargrave  despatched  a  note  to  Mr. 
Winsley,  saying  that  his  health  required  him  to  return  to 
town  immediately,  —  and  to  town,  in  fact,  he  hastened.  The 
day  after  his  arrival,  he  received,  in  a  hurried  hand  — 
strangely  blurred  and  blotted,  perhaps  by  tears  —  this  short 
letter : — 

For  Heaven's  sake,  tell  me  what  you  mean  !  Yes,  yes,  I  did  once 
reside  at  Dale  Cottage,  I  did  know  one  of  the  name  of  Butler  I  Has  he 
discovered  the  name  /  bear  ?  Where  is  he  ?  I  implore  you  to  write,  or 
let  me  see  you  before  you  leave  England  1 

Alice  Vargrave. 

Lumley  smiled  triumphantly  when  he  read  and  carefully 
put  up  this  letter. 

"  I  must  now  amuse  and  put  her  off  —  at  all  events  for  the 
present." 

In  answer  to  Lady  Vargrave's  letter,  he  wrote  a  few  lines 
to  say  that  he  had  only  heard  through  a  third  person  (a  law- 
yer) of  a  Mr.  Butler  residing  somewhere  abroad,  who  had 
wished  these  inquiries  to  be  made;  that  he  believed  it  only 
related  to  some  disposition  of  property;  that,  perhaps,  the 
Mr.  Butler  who  made  the  inquiry  was  heir  to  the  Mr.  Butler 
she  had  known;  that  he  could  learn  nothing  else  at  present, 
as  the  purport  of  her  reply  must  be  sent  abroad,  —  the  lawyer 
would  or  could  say  nothing  more;  that  directly  he  received  a 
further  communication  it  should  be  despatched  to  her,  that  he 
was  most  affectionately  and  most  truly  hers. 

The  rest  of  that  morning  Vargrave  devoted  to  Lord  Saxing- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  847 

ham  and  his  allies;  and  declaring,  and  believing,  that  he 
should  not  be  long  absent  at  Paris,  he  took  an  early  dinner, 
and  was  about  once  more  to  commit  himself  to  the  risks  of 
travel,  when,  as  he  crossed  the  hall,  Mr.  Douce  came  hastily 
upon  him. 

"My  lord  —  my  lord  —  I  must  have  a  word  with  your 
1-1 -lordship; — you  are  going  to  —  that  is  —  "  (and  the  little 
man  looked  frightened)  "  you  intend  to  —  to  go  to  —  that  is  — 
ab-ab-ab  —  " 

"Not  abscond,  Mr.  Douce;  come  into  the  library:  I  am  in 
a  great  hurry,  but  I  have  always  time  for  you.  What 's  the 
matter?  " 

"  Why,  then,  my  lord,  —  I  —  I  have  heard  nothing 
m-m-more  from  your  lordship  about  the  pur-pur  — " 

"Purchase?  —  I  am  going  to  Paris,  to  settle  all  particulars 
with  Miss  Cameron;  tell  the  lawyers  so." 

"May  —  may  —  we  draw  out  the  money  to  —  to  —  show  — 
that  —  that  we  are  in  earnest?  Otherwise  I  fear  —  that  is,  I 
suspect  —  I  mean  I  know,  that  Colonel  Maltravers  will  be  off 
the  bargain." 

"Why,  Mr.  Douce,  really  I  must  just  see  my  ward  first; 
but  you  shall  hear  from  me  in  a  day  or  two ;  —  and  the  ten 
thousand  pounds  I  owe  you !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  the  ten  —  ten  —  ten !  —  my  partner  is 
very  —  " 

"Anxious  for  it,  no  doubt!  My  compliments  to  him. 
God  bless  you !  —  take  care  of  yourself,  —  must  be  off  to  save 
the  packet; "  and  Vargrave  hurried  away,  muttering,  "Heaven 
sends  money,  and  the  devil  sends  duns !  " 

Douce  gasped  like  a  fish  for  breath,  as  his  eyes  followed  the 
rapid  steps  of  Vargrave ;  and  there  was  an  angry  scowl  of  dis- 
appointment on  his  small  features.  Lumley,  by  this  time, 
seated  in  his  carriage,  and  wrapped  up  in  his  cloak,  had  for- 
gotten the  creditor's  existence,  and  whispered  to  his  aristo- 
cratic secretary,  as  he  bent  his  head  out  of  the  carriage 
window,  "I  have  told  Lord  Saxingham  to  despatch  you  to 
me,  if  there  is  any  —  the  least  —  necessity  for  me  in  London. 
I  leave  you  behind,  Howard,  because  your  sister  being  at 


348  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

court,  and  your  cousin  with  our  notable  premier,  you  will 
find  out  every  change  in  the  wind  —  you  understand.  And,  I 
say,  Howard,  don't  think  I  forget  your  kindness!  — you  know 
that  no  man  ever  served  me  in  vain!  Oh,  there  's  that  horrid 
little  Douce  behind  you,  — tell  them  to  drive  on!  " 


CHAPTEE  II. 

Heard  you  that  1 
Wliat  prodigy  of  horror  is  disclosing  ?  —  Lillo  :  Fatal  Curiosity. 

The  unhappy  companion  of  Cesarini's  flight  was  soon  dis- 
covered and  recaptured;  but  all  search  for  Cesarini  himself 
proved  ineffectual,  not  only  in  the  neighbourhood  of  St. 
Cloud,  but  in  the  surrounding  country  and  in  Paris.  The 
only  comfort  was  in  thinking  that  his  watch  would  at  least 
preserve  him  for  some  time  from  the  horrors  of  want;  and 
that  by  the  sale  of  the  trinket,  he  might  be  traced.  The 
police,  too,  were  set  at  work,  —  the  vigilant  police  of  Paris ! 
Still  day  rolled  on  day,  and  no  tidings.  The  secret  of  the 
escape  was  carefully  concealed  from  Teresa;  and  public  cares 
were  a  suf&cient  excuse  for  the  gloom  on  De  Montaigne's 
brow. 

Evelyn  heard  from  Maltravers  with  mingled  emotions  of 
compassion,  grief,  and  awe  the  gloomy  tale  connected  with 
the  history  of  the  maniac.  She  wept  for  the  fate  of  Florence ; 
she  shuddered  at  the  curse  that  had  fallen  on  Cesarini;  and 
perhaps  Maltravers  grew  dearer  to  her  from  the  thought  that 
there  was  so  much  in  the  memories  of  the  past  that  needed  a 
comforter  and  a  soother. 

They  returned  to  Paris,  affianced  and  plighted  lovers ;  and 
then  it  was  that  Evelyn  sought  carefully  and  resolutely  to 
banish  from  her  mind  all  recollection,  all  regret,  of  the  absent 
Legard :  she  felt  the  solemnity  of  the  trust  confided  in  her, 


AIJCE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  349 

and  she  resolved  that  no  thought  of  hers  should  ever  be  of  a 
nature  to  gall  the  generous  and  tender  spirit  that  had  confided 
its  life  of  life  to  her  care.  The  influence  of  Maltravers  over 
her  increased  in  their  new  and  more  familiar  position,  and 
yet  still  it  partook  too  much  of  veneration,  too  little  of  pas- 
sion; but  that  might  be  her  innocence  and  youth.  He,  at 
least,  was  sensible  of  no  want,  —  she  had  chosen  him  from 
the  world;  and  fastidious  as  he  deemed  himself,  he  reposed, 
without  a  doubt,  on  the  security  of  her  faith.  None  of  those 
presentiments  which  had  haunted  him  when  first  betrothed  to 
Florence  disturbed  him  now.  The  affection  of  one  so  young 
and  so  guileless  seemed  to  bring  back  to  him  all  his  own 
youth  —  we  are  ever  young  while  the  young  can  love  us! 
Suddenly,  too,  the  world  took  to  his  eyes  a  brighter  and 
fairer  aspect.  Hope,  born  again,  reconciled  him  to  his  career 
and  to  his  race!  The  more  he  listened  to  Evelyn,  the  more 
he  watched  every  evidence  of  her  docile  but  generous  nature, 
the  more  he  felt  assured  that  he  had  found  at  last  a  heart 
suited  to  his  own.  Her  beautiful  serenity  of  temper,  cheer- 
ful, yet  never  fitful  or  unquiet,  gladdened  him  with  its  insen- 
sible contagion.  To  be  with  Evelyn  was  like  basking  in  the 
sunshine  of  some  happy  sky!  It  was  an  inexpressible  charm 
to  one  wearied  with  "the  hack  sights  and  sounds"  of  this 
jaded  world,  — to  watch  the  ever-fresh  and  sparkling  thoughts 
and  fancies  which  came  from  a  soul  so  new  to  life !  It  en- 
chanted one,  painfully  fastidious  in  what  relates  to  the  true 
nobility  of  character,  that,  however  various  the  themes  dis- 
cussed, no  low  or  mean  thought  ever  sullied  those  beautiful 
lips.  It  was  not  the  mere  innocence  of  inexperience,  but  the 
moral  incapability  of  guile,  that  charmed  him  in  the  compan- 
ion he  had  chosen  on  his  path  to  Eternity!  He  was  also 
delighted  to  notice  Evelyn's  readiness  of  resources :  she  had 
that  faculty,  without  which  woman  has  no  independence  from 
the  world,  no  pledge  that  domestic  retirement  will  not  soon 
languish  into  wearisome  monotony,  —  the  faculty  of  making 
trifles  contribute  to  occupation  or  amusement;  she  was  easily 
pleased,  and  yet  she  so  soon  reconciled  herself  to  disappoint- 
ment.    He  felt,  and  chid  his  own  dulness  for  not  feeling  it 


350  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

before,  that,  young  and  surpassingly  lovely  as  she  was,  she 
required  no  stimulant  from  the  heated  pursuits  and  the  hol- 
low admiration  of  the  crowd. 

"Such,"  thought  he,  "are  the  natures  that  alone  can  pre- 
serve through  years  the  poetry  of  the  first  passionate  illusion, 
that  can  alone  render  wedlock  the  seal  that  confirms  affection, 
and  not  the  mocking  ceremonial  that  vainly  consecrates  its 
grave ! " 

Maltravers,  as  we  have  seen,  formally  wrote  to  Lumley 
some  days  after  their  return  to  Paris.  He  would  have  writ- 
ten also  to  Lady  Vargrave,  but  Evelyn  thought  it  best  to  pre- 
pare her  mother  by  a  letter  from  herself. 

Miss  Cameron  now  wanted  but  a  few  weeks  to  the  age  of 
eighteen,  at  which  she  was  to  be  the  sole  mistress  of  her  own 
destiny.  On  arriving  at  that  age  the  marriage  was  to  take 
place.  Valerie  heard  with  sincere  delight  of  the  new  engage- 
ment her  friend  had  formed.  She  eagerly  sought  every  op- 
portunity to  increase  her  intimacy  with  Evelyn,  who  was 
completely  won  by  her  graceful  kindness;  the  result  of 
Valerie's  examination  was,  that  she  did  not  wonder  at  the 
passionate  love  of  Maltravers,  but  that  her  deep  knowledge  of 
the  human  heart  (that  knowledge  so  remarkable  in  the  women 
of  her  country !)  made  her  doubt  how  far  it  was  adequately 
returned,  how  far  Evelyn  deceived  herself.  Her  first  satis- 
faction became  mingled  with  anxiety,  and  she  relied  more  for 
the  future  felicity  of  her  friend  on  Evelyn's  purity  of  thought 
and  general  tenderness  of  heart  than  on  the  exclusiveness  and 
ardour  of  her  love.  Alas !  few  at  eighteen  are  not  too  young 
for  the  irrevocable  step,  —  and  Evelyn  was  younger  than  her 
years!  One  evening  at  Madame  de  Ventadour's  Maltravers 
asked  Evelyn  if  she  had  yet  heard  from  Lady  Vargrave. 
Evelyn  expressed  her  surprise  that  she  had  not,  and  the  con- 
versation fell,  as  was  natural,  upon  Lady  Vargrave  herself. 
"Is  she  as  fond  of  music  as  you  are?"  asked  Maltravers. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  think  so  —  and  of  the  songs  of  a  certain 
person  in  particular;  they  always  had  for  her  an  indescriba- 
ble charm.  Often  have  I  heard  her  say  that  to  read  your 
writings  was  like  talking  to  an  early  friend.     Your  name  and 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  351 

genius  seemed  to  make  her  solitary  connection  with  the  great 
world.  Nay  —  but  you  will  not  be  angry  —  I  half  think  it 
was  her  enthusiasm,  so  strange  and  rare,  that  first  taught  me 
interest  in  yourself." 

"I  have  a  double  reason,  then,  for  loving  your  mother," 
said  Maltravers,  much  pleased  and  flattered.  "  And  does  she 
not  like  Italian  music?" 

"  Not  much ;  she  prefers  some  rather  old-fashioned  German 
airs,  very  simple,  but  very  touching." 

"My  own  early  passion,"  said  Maltravers,  more  and  more 
interested. 

"  But  there  are  also  one  or  two  English  songs  which  I  have 
occasionally,  but  very  seldom,  heard  her  sing.  One  in  espe- 
cial affects  her  so  deeply,  even  when  she  plays  the  air,  that  I 
have  always  attached  to  it  a  certain  mysterious  sanctity.  I 
should  not  like  to  sing  it  before  a  crowd,  but  to-morrow,  when 
you  call  on  me,  and  we  are  alone  —  " 

"Ah,  to-morrow  I  will  not  fail  to  remind  you." 

Their  conversation  ceased;  yet,  somehow  or  other,  that 
night  when  he  retired  to  rest  the  recollection  of  it  haunted 
Maltravers.  He  felt  a  vague,  unaccountable  curiosity  respect- 
ing this  secluded  and  solitary  mother;  all  concerning  her  early 
fate  seemed  so  wrapped  in  mystery.  Cleveland,  in  reply  to 
his  letter,  had  informed  him  that  all  inquiries  respecting  the 
birth  and  first  marriage  of  Lady  Vargrave  had  failed.  Evelyn 
evidently  knew  but  little  of  either,  and  he  felt  a  certain  deli- 
cacy in  pressing  questions  which  might  be  ascribed  to  the 
inquisitiveness  of  a  vulgar  family  pride.  Moreover,  lovers 
have  so  much  to  say  to  each  other,  that  he  had  not  time  to 
talk  at  length  to  Evelyn  about  third  persons.  He  slept  ill 
that  night,  —  dark  and  boding  dreams  disturbed  his  slumber. 
He  rose  late  and  dejected  by  presentiments  he  could  not  mas- 
ter :  his  morning  meal  was  scarcely  over,  and  he  had  already 
taken  his  hat  to  go  to  Evelyn's  for  comfort  and  sunshine, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  he  was  surprised  by  the  entrance 
of  Lord  Vargrave. 

Lumley  seated  himself  with  a  formal  gravity  very  unusual 
to  him,  and  as  if  anxious  to  waive  unnecessary  explanations. 


352  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

began  as  follows,  with  a  serious  and  impressive  voice  and 
aspect : — 

"Maltravers,  of  late  years  we  have  been  estranged  from 
each  other.  I  do  not  presume  to  dictate  to  you  your  friend- 
ships or  your  dislikes.  Why  this  estrangement  has  happened 
you  alone  can  determine.  For  my  part  I  am  conscious  of  no 
offence;  that  which  I  was  I  am  still.  It  is  you  who  have 
changed.  Whether  it  be  the  difference  of  our  political  opin- 
ions, or  any  other  and  more  secret  cause,  I  know  not.  I 
lament,  but  it  is  now  too  late  to  attempt  to  remove  it.  If  you 
suspect  me  of  ever  seeking,  or  even  wishing,  to  sow  dissen- 
sion between  yourself  and  my  ill-fated  cousin,  now  no  more, 
you  are  mistaken.  I  ever  sought  the  happiness  and  union  of 
you  both.  And  yet,  Maltravers,  you  then  came  between  me 
and  an  early  and  cherished  dream.  But  I  suffered  in  silence; 
my  course  was  at  least  disinterested,  perhaps  generous :  let  it 
pass.  A  second  time  you  cross  my  path,  — you  win  from  me 
a  heart  I  had  long  learned  to  consider  mine.  You  have  no 
scruple  of  early  friendship,  you  have  no  forbearance  towards 
acknowledged  and  affianced  ties.  You  are  my  rival  with 
Evelyn  Cameron,  and  your  suit  has  prospered." 

"Vargrave,"  said  Maltravers,  "you  have  spoken  frankly; 
and  I  will  reply  with  an  equal  candour.  A  difference  of 
tastes,  tempers,  and  opinions  led  us  long  since  into  opposite 
paths.  I  am  one  who  cannot  disunite  public  morality  from 
private  virtue.  From  motives  best  known  to  you,  but  which 
I  say  openly  I  hold  to  have  been  those  of  interest  or  ambi- 
tion, you  did  not  change  your  opinions  (there  is  no  sin  in 
that),  but  retaining  them  in  private,  professed  others  in  pub- 
lic, and  played  with  the  destinies  of  mankind  as  if  they  were 
but  counters  to  mark  a  mercenary  game.  This  led  me  to 
examine  your  character  with  more  searching  eyes;  and  I 
found  it  one  I  could  no  longer  trust.  With  respect  to  the 
Dead,  let  the  pall  drop  over  that  earlv  grave,  —  I  acquit  you 
of  all  blame.  He  who  sinned  has  suffered  more  than  would 
atone  the  crime!  You  charge  me  with  my  love  to  Evelyn. 
Pardon  me,  but  I  seduced  no  affection,  I  have  broken  no  tie. 
Not  till  she  was  free  in  heart  and  in  hand  to  choose  between 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  353 

us,  did  I  hint  at  love.  Let  me  think  that  a  way  may  be  found 
to  soften  one  portion  at  least  of  the  disappointment  you  can- 
not but  feel  acutely." 

"  Stay ! "  said  Lord  Vargrave  (who,  plunged  in  a  gloomy 
revery,  had  scarcely  seemed  to  hear  the  last  few  sentences  of 
his  rival):  "stay,  Maltravers.  Speak  not  of  love  to  Evelyn! 
A  horrible  foreboding  tells  me  that,  a  few  hours  hence,  you 
would  rather  pluck  out  your  tongue  by  the  roots  than  couple 
the  words  of  love  with  the  thought  of  that  unfortunate  girl! 
Oh,  if  I  were  vindictive,  what  awful  triumph  would  await 
me  now!  What  retaliation  on  your  harsh  judgment,  your 
cold  contempt,  your  momentary  and  wretched  victory  over 
me !  Heaven  is  my  witness,  that  my  only  sentiment  is  that 
of  terror  and  woe!  Maltravers,  in  your  earliest  youth,  did 
you  form  connection  with  one  whom  they  called  Alice 
Darvil?" 

"Alice!  merciful  Heaven!  what  of  her?" 

"  Did  you  never  know  that  the  Christian  name  of  Evelyn's 
mother  is  Alice?" 

"I  never  asked,  I  never  knew;  but  it  is  a  common  name," 
faltered  Maltravers. 

"Listen  to  me,"  resumed  Vargrave:  "with  Alice  Darvil 
you  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  of ,  did  you  not?" 

"  Go  on,  go  on !  " 

"  You  took  the  name  of  Butler ;  by  that  name  Alice  Darvil 
was  afterwards  known  in  the  town  in  which  my  uncle  resided 
—  there  are  gaps  in  the  history  that  I  cannot  of  my  own 
knowledge  fill  up,  —  she  taught  music ;  my  uncle  became  en- 
amoured of  her,  but  he  was  vain  and  worldly.  She  removed 
into  Devonshire,  and  he  married  her  there,  under  the  name 
of  Cameron,  by  which  name  he  hoped  to  conceal  from  the 
world  the  lowness  of  her  origin,  and  the  humble  calling  she 
had  followed.  Hold!  do  not  interrupt  me.  Alice  had  one 
daughter,  as  was  supposed,  by  a  former  marriage ;  that  daugh- 
ter was  the  offspring  of  him  whose  name  she  bore  —  yes,  of 
the  false  Butler !  —  that  daughter  is  Evelyn  Cameron !  " 

"Liar!  devil!"  cried  Maltravers,  springing  to  his  feet,  as 
if  a  shot  had  pierced  his  heart.     "  Proofs !  proofs !  " 

23 


354  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

"Will  these  suffice?"  said  Vargrave,  as  he  drew  forth  the 
letters  of  Winsley  and  Lady  Vargrave.  Maltravers  took 
them,  but  it  was  some  moments  before  he  could  dare  to 
read.  He  supported  himself  with  difficulty  from  falling  to 
the  ground;  there  was  a  gurgle  in  his  throat  like  the  sound  of 
the  death-rattle ;  at  last  he  read,  and  dropped  the  letters  from 
his  hand. 

"Wait  me  here,"  he  said  very  faintly,  and  moved  mechani- 
cally to  the  door. 

"Hold!"  said  Lord  Vargrave,  laying  his  hand  upon 
Ernest's  arm.  "Listen  to  me  for  Evelyn's  sake,  for  her 
mother's.  You  are  about  to  seek  Evelyn,  —  be  it  so !  I 
know  that  you  possess  the  god-like  gift  of  self-control.  You 
will  not  suffer  her  to  learn  that  her  mother  has  done  that 
which  dishonours  alike  mother  and  child?  You  will  not  con- 
summate your  wrong  to  Alice  Darvil  by  robbing  her  of  the 
fruit  of  a  life  of  penitence  and  remorse?  You  will  not  unveil 
her  shame  to  her  own  daughter?  Convince  yourself,  and 
master  yourself  while  you  do  so !  " 

"Fear  me  not,"  said  Maltravers,  with  a  terrible  smile;  "I 
will  not  afflict  my  conscience  with  a  double  curse.  As  I  have 
sowed,  so  must  I  reap.     Wait  me  here !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

.    .    .    Misery 
That  gathers  force  each  moment  as  it  rolls, 
And  must,  at  last,  o'erwhelm  me.  —  Lillo  :  Fatal  Curiosity. 

Maltravers  found  Evelyn  alone ;  she  turned  towards  him 
with  her  usual  sweet  smile  of  welcome;  but  the  smile  vanished 
at  once,  as  her  eyes  met  his  changed  and  working  countenance ; 
cold  drops  stood  upon  the  rigid  and  marble  brow,  the  lips 
writhed  as  if  in  bodily  torture,  the  muscles  of  the  face  had 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  355 

fallen,  and  there  was  a  wildness  which  appalled  her  in  the 
fixed  and  feverish  brightness  of  the  eyes. 

"You  are  ill,  Ernest, — dear  Ernest,  you  are  ill, — your 
look  freezes  me !  " 

"Nay,  Evelyn,"  said  Maltravers,  recovering  himself  by  one 
of  those  efforts  of  which  men  who  have  siiffered  without  sym- 
pathy are  alone  capable, — "nay,  I  am  better  now;  I  have 
been  ill  —  very  ill  —  but  I  am  better ! " 

"111!  and  I  not  know  of  it?"  She  attempted  to  take  his 
hand  as  she  spoke.     Maltravers  recoiled. 

"  It  is  fire !  it  burns !  Avaunt !  "  he  cried,  frantically.  "  0 
Heaven !  spare  me,  spare  me !  " 

Evelyn  was  not  seriously  alarmed;  she  gazed  on  him  with 
the  tenderest  compassion.  Was  this  one  of  those  moody  and 
overwhelming  paroxysms  to  which  it  had  been  whispered 
abroad  that  he  was  subject?  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  despite 
her  terror,  he  was  dearer  to  her  in  that  hour  —  as  she  believed, 
of  gloom  and  darkness  —  than  in  all  the  glory  of  his  majestic 
intellect,  or  all  the  blandishments  of  his  soft  address. 

"What  has  happened  to  you?"  she  said,  approaching  him 
again;  "have  you  seen  Lord  Vargrave?  I  know  that  he  has 
arrived,  for  his  servant  has  been  here  to  say  so ;  has  he  uttered 
anything  to  distress  you?  or  has  — "  (she  added  falteringly 
and  timidly) —  "has  poor  Evelyn  offended  you?  Speak  to 
me,  —  only  speak ! " 

Maltravers  turned,  and  his  face  was  now  calm  and  serene : 
save  by  its  extreme  and  almost  ghastly  paleness,  no  trace  of 
the  hell  within  him  could  be  discovered. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  he,  gently,  "I  know  not  this  morning 
what  I  say  or  do ;  think  not  of  it,  think  not  of  me,  —  it  will 
pass  away  when  I  hear  your  voice." 

"  Shall  I  sing  to  you  the  words  I  spoke  of  last  night?  See, 
I  have  them  ready ;  I  know  them  by  heart,  but  I  thought  you 
might  like  to  read  them,  they  are  so  full  of  simple  but  deep 
feeling." 

Maltravers  took  the  song  from  her  hands,  and  bent  over 
the  paper;  at  first,  the  letters  seemed  dim  and  indistinct,  for 
there  was  a  mist  before  his  eyes;  but  at  last  a  chord  of  mem- 


356  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

ory  was  struck,  —  he  recalled  the  words :  they  were  some  of 
those  he  had  composed  for  Alice  in  the  first  days  of  their  deli- 
cious intercourse,  —  links  of  the  golden  chain,  in  which  he  had 
sought  to  bind  the  spirit  of  knowledge  to  that  of  love. 

"And  from  whom,"  said  he,  in  a  faint  voice,  as  he  calmly 
put  down  the  verses,  —  "  from  whom  did  your  mother  learn 
these  words?" 

"I  know  not;  some  dear  friend,  years  ago,  composed  and 
gave  them  to  her.  It  must  have  been  one  very  dear  to  her, 
to  judge  by  the  effect  they  still  produce," 

"Think  you,"  said  Maltravers,  in  a  hollow  voice,   "think 

you  IT   WAS   YOUK   FATHER?" 

"My  father!  She  never  speaks  of  him!  I  have  been  early 
taught  to  shun  all  allusion  to  his  memory.  My  father !  —  it 
is  probable;  yes,  it  may  have  been  my  father;  whom  else 
could  she  have  loved  so  fondly?  " 

There  was  a  long  silence ;  Evelyn  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

"I  have  heard  from  my  mother  to-day,  Ernest;  her  letter 
alarms  me,  —  I  scarce  know  why !  " 

"Ah!  and  how  — " 

"  It  is  hurried  and  incoherent,  —  almost  wild :  she  says  she 
has  learned  some  intelligence  that  has  unsettled  and  unstrung 
her  mind;  she  has  requested  me  to  inquire  if  any  one  I  am 
acquainted  with  has  heard  of,  or  met  abroad,  some  person  of 
the  name  of  Butler.  You  start! — have  you  known  one  of 
that  name?" 

"I!  —  did  your  mother  never  allude  to  that  name  before?" 

"  Never !  —  and  yet,  once  I  remember  —  " 

"What?" 

"  That  I  was  reading  an  account  in  the  papers  of  the  sudden 
death  of  some  Mr.  Butler ;  and  her  agitation  made  a  powerful 
and  strange  impression  upon  me,  —  in  fact,  she  fainted,  and 
seemed  almost  delirious  when  she  recovered;  she  would  not 
rest  till  I  had  completed  the  account,  and  when  I  came  to 
the  particulars  of  his  age,  etc.  (he  was  old,  I  think)  she 
clasped  her  hands,  and  wept;  but  they  seemed  tears  of  joy. 
The  name  is  so  common  —  whom  of  that  name  have  you 
known?  " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  367 

"It  is  no  matter.  Is  that  your  mother's  letter;  is  that  her 
handwriting?  " 

"Yes;"  and  Evelyn  gave  the  letter  to  Maltravers.  He 
glanced  over  the  characters ;  he  had  once  or  twice  seen  Lady 
Vargrave's  handwriting  before,  and  had  recognized  no  likeness 
between  that  handwriting  and  such  early  specimens  of  Alice's 
art  as  he  had  witnessed  so  many  years  ago ;  but  now,  "  trifles 
light  as  air  "  had  grown  "  confirmation  strong  as  proof  of  Holy 
Writ,"  —  he  thought  he  detected  Alice  in  every  line  of  the 
hurried  and  blotted  scroll;  and  when  his  eye  rested  on  the 
words,  "  Your  affectionate  mother,  Alice  f  "  his  blood  curdled 
in  his  veins. 

"  It  is  strange ! "  said  he,  still  struggling  for  self -compos- 
ure; "  strange  that  I  never  thought  of  asking  her  name  before! 
Alice!  her  name  is  Alice?" 

"A  sweet  name,  is  it  not?  It  accords  so  well  with  her 
simple  character  —  how  you  would  love  her !  " 

As  she  said  this,  Evelyn  turned  to  Maltravers  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  again  she  was  startled  by  his  aspect;  for  again  it 
was  haggard,  distorted,  and  convulsed. 

"  Oh,  if  you  love  me, "  she  cried,  "  do  send  immediately  for 
advice!  And  yet,  is  it  illness,  Ernest,  or  is  it  some  grief 
that  you  hide  from  me?" 

"It  is  illness,  Evelyn,"  said  Maltravers,  rising:  and  his 
knees  knocked  together.  "  I  am  not  fit  even  for  your  com- 
panionship, —  I  will  go  home." 

"And  send  instantly  for  advice?" 

"Ay;  it  waits  me  there  already." 

"  Thank  Heaven !  and  you  will  write  to  me  one  little  word 
—  to  relieve  me?     I  am  so  uneasy!  " 

"I  will  write  to  you." 

"This  evening?" 

"Ay!" 

"Now  go,  —  I  will  not  detain  you." 

He  walked  slowly  to  the  door,  but  when  he  reached  it  he 
turned,  and  catching  her  anxious  gaze,  he  opened  his  arms ; 
overpowered  with  strange  fear  and  affectionate  sympathy,  she 
burst  into  passionate  tears ;  and  surprised  out  of  the  timidity 


358  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  reserve  which  had  hitherto  characterized  her  pure  and 
meek  attachment  to  him,  she  fell  on  his  breast,  and  sobbed 
aloud.  Maltravers  raised  his  hands,  and,  placing  them  sol- 
emnly on  her  young  head,  his  lips  muttered  as  if  in  prayer. 
He  paused,  and  strained  her  to  his  heart ;  but  he  shunned  that 
parting  kiss,  which,  hitherto,  he  had  so  fondly  sought.  That 
embrace  was  one  of  agony,  and  not  of  rapture ;  and  yet  Eve- 
lyn dreamed  not  that  he  designed  it  for  the  last ! 

Maltravers  re-entered  the  room  in  which  he  had  left  Lord 
Vargrave,  who  still  awaited  his  return. 

He  walked  up  to  Lumley,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "You 
have  saved  me  from  a  dreadful  crime,  —  from  an  everlasting 
remorse.     I  thank  you!  " 

Hardened  and  frigid  as  his  nature  was,  Lumley  was 
touched;  the  movement  of  Maltravers  took  him  by  surprise. 
"  It  has  been  a  dreadful  duty,  Ernest, "  said  he,  pressing  the 
hand  he  held ;  "  but  to  come,  too,  from  me,  —  your  rival !  " 

"  Proceed,  proceed,  I  pray  you ;  explain  all  this  —  yet 
explanation!  what  do  I  want  to  know?  Evelyn  is  my  daugh- 
ter, —  Alice's  child  !  For  Heaven's  sake,  give  me  hope;  say 
it  is  not  so;  say  that  she  is  Alice's  child,  but  not  mine! 
Father !  father !  —  and  they  call  it  a  holy  name  —  it  is  a  hor- 
rible one ! " 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  dear  friend :  recollect  what  you  have 
escaped !     You  will  recover  this  shock.     Time,  travel  —  " 

"  Peace,  man,  —  peace !  Now  then  I  am  calm !  When  Alice 
left  me  she  had  no  child.  I  knew  not  that  she  bore  within 
her  the  pledge  of  our  ill-omened  and  erring  love.  Verily, 
the  sins  of  my  youth  have  arisen  against  me;  and  the  curse 
has  come  home  to  roost !  " 

"I  cannot  explain  to  you  all  details." 

"But  why  not  have  told  me  of  this?  Why  not  have  warned 
me;  why  not  have  said  to  me,  when  my  heart  could  have  been 
satisfied  by  so  sweet  a  tie,  '  Thou  hast  a  daughter :  thou  art  not 
desolate  '  ?  Why  reserve  the  knowledge  of  the  blessing  until 
it  has  turned  to  poison?  Fiend  that  you  are!  you  have  waited 
this  hour  to  gloat  over  the  agony  from  which  a  word  from  you 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  359 

a  year,  nay,  a  month  ago  —  a  little  month  ago  —  might  have 
saved  me  and  her !  " 

Maltravers,  as  he  spoke,  approached  Vargrave,  with  eyes 
sparkling  with  fierce  passion,  his  hand  clenched,  his  form 
dilated,  the  veins  on  his  forehead  swelled  like  cords.  Lum- 
ley,  brave  as  he  was,  recoiled. 

"I  knew  not  of  this  secret,"  said  he,  deprecatingly,  "till  a 
few  days  before  I  came  hither;  and  I  came  hither  at  once  to 
disclose  it  to  you.  Will  you  listen  to  me?  I  knew  that  my 
uncle  had  married  a  person  much  beneath  him  in  rank ;  but 
he  was  guarded  and  cautious,  and  I  knew  no  more,  except  that 
by  a  first  husband  that  lady  had  one  daughter,  —  Evelyn.  A 
chain  of  accidents  suddenly  acquainted  me  with  the  rest." 

Here   Vargrave    pretty   faithfully   repeated   what  he   had 

learned  from  the  brewer  at  C ,  and  from  Mr.  Onslow; 

but  when  he  came  to  the  tacit  confirmation  of  all  his  suspi- 
cions received  from  Mrs.  Leslie,  he  greatly  exaggerated  and 
greatly  distorted  the  account.  "Judge,  then,"  concluded 
Lumley,  "of  the  horror  with  which  I  heard  that  you  had 
declared  an  attachment  to  Evelyn,  and  that  it  was  returned. 
Ill  as  I  was,  I  hastened  hither :  you  know  the  rest.  Are  you 
satisfied?  " 

"  I  will  go  to  Alice !  I  will  learn  from  her  own  lips  —  yet, 
how  can  I  meet  her  again?  How  say  to  her,  *  I  have  taken 
from  thee  thy  last  hope,  —  I  have  broken  thy  child's  heart '?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  but  I  should  confess  to  you,  that,  from  all  I 
can  learn  from  Mrs.  Leslie,  Lady  Vargrave  has  but  one  prayer, 
one  hope  in  life,  —  that  she  may  never  again  meet  with  her 
betrayer.  You  may,  indeed,  in  her  own  letter  perceive  how 
much  she  is  terrified  by  the  thought  of  your  discovering  her. 
She  has,  at  length,  recovered  peace  of  mind  and  tranquillity 
of  conscience.  She  shrinks  with  dread  from  the  prospect  of 
ever  again  encountering  one  once  so  dear,  now  associated  in 
her  mind  with  recollections  of  guilt  and  sorrow.  More  than 
this,  she  is  sensitively  alive  to  the  fear  of  shame,  to  the  dread 
of  detection.  If  ever  her  daughter  were  to  know  her  sin,  it 
would  be  to  her  as  a  death-blow.  Yet  in  her  nervous  state  of 
health,   her  ever-quick  and  uncontrollable  feelings,   if  you 


360  ALICE;    OR,    THE  MYSTERIES. 

were  to  meet  her,  she  would  disguise  nothing,  conceal 
nothing.  The  veil  would  be  torn  aside :  the  menials  in  her 
own  house  would  tell  the  tale,  and  curiosity  circulate,  and 
scandal  blacken  the  story  of  her  early  errors.  No,  Mal- 
travers,  at  least  wait  awhile  before  you  see  her;  wait  till 
her  mind  can  be  prepared  for  such  an  interview,  till  precau- 
tions can  be  taken,  till  you  yourself  are  in  a  calmer  state  of 
mind." 

Maltravers  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  on  Lumley  while  he  thus 
spoke,  and  listened  in  deep  attention. 

"It  matters  not,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pause,  "whether 
these  be  your  real  reasons  for  wishing  to  defer  or  prevent  a 
meeting  between  Alice  and  myself.  The  affliction  that  has 
come  upon  me  bursts  with  too  clear  and  scorching  a  blaze  of 
light  for  me  to  see  any  chance  of  escape  or  mitigation.  Even 
if  Evelyn  were  the  daughter  of  Alice  by  another,  she  would 
be  forever  separated  from  me.  The  mother  and  the  child! 
there  is  a  kind  of  incest  even  in  that  thought !  But  such  an 
alleviation  of  my  anguish  is  forbidden  to  my  reason.  No, 
poor  Alice,  I  will  not  disturb  the  repose  thou  hast  won  at 
last!  Thou  shalt  never  have  the  grief  to  know  that  our  error 
has  brought  upon  thy  lover  so  black  a  doom !  All  is  over !  the 
world  never  shall  find  me  again.  Nothing  is  left  for  me  but 
the  desert  and  the  grave !  " 

"Speak  not  so,  Ernest,"  said  Lord  Vargrave,  soothingly; 
"  a  little  while,  and  you  will  recover  this  blow :  your  control 
over  passion  has,  even  in  youth,  inspired  me  with  admiration 
and  surprise ;  and  now,  in  calmer  years,  and  with  such  incen- 
tives to  self-mastery,  your  triumph  will  come  sooner  than  you 
think.  Evelyn,  too,  is  so  young;  she  has  not  known  you 
long ;  perhaps  her  love,  after  all,  is  that  caused  by  some  mys- 
tic, but  innocent  working  of  nature,  and  she  would  rejoice  to 
call  you  '  father.'     Happy  years  are  yet  in  store  for  you." 

Maltravers  did  not  listen  to  these  vain  and  hollow  consola- 
tions. With  his  head  drooping  on  his  bosom,  his  whole  form 
unnerved,  the  large  tears  rolling  unheeded  down  his  cheeks, 
he  seemed  the  very  picture  of  a  broken-hearted  man,  whom 
fate  never  again  could  raise  from  despair.     He,  who  had,  for 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  861 

years,  so  cased  himself  in  pride,  on  whose  very  front  was 
engraved  the  victory  over  passion  and  misfortune,  whose  step 
had  trod  the  earth  in  the  royalty  of  the  conqueror ;  the  veriest 
slave  that  crawls  bore  not  a  spirit  more  humbled,  fallen,  or 
subdued!  He  who  had  looked  with  haughty  eyes  on  the  in- 
firmities of  others,  who  had  disdained  to  serve  his  race  because 
of  their  human  follies  and  partial  frailties,  —  he,  even  he,  the 
Pharisee  of  Genius,  —  had  but  escaped  by  a  chance,  and  by 
the  hand  of  the  man  he  suspected  and  despised,  from  a  crime 
at  which  nature  herself  recoils,  — which  all  law,  social  and 
divine,  stigmatizes  as  inexpiable,  which  the  sternest  imagina- 
tion of  the  very  heathen  had  invented  as  the  gloomiest  catas- 
trophe that  can  befall  the  wisdom  and  the  pride  of  mortals ! 
But  one  step  farther,  and  the  fabulous  (Edipus  had  not  been 
more  accursed! 

Such  thoughts  as  these,  unformed,  confused,  but  strong 
enough  to  bow  him  to  the  dust,  passed  through  the  mind  of 
this  wretched  man.  He  had  been  familiar  with  grief,  he  had 
been  dull  to  enjoyment;  sad  and  bitter  memories  had  con- 
sumed his  manhood:  but  pride  had  been  left  him  still;  and 
he  had  dared  in  his  secret  heart  to  say,  "  I  can  defy  Fate ! " 
Now  the  bolt  had  fallen ;  Pride  was  shattered  into  fragments, 
Self-abasement  was  his  companion.  Shame  sat  upon  his  pros- 
trate soul.  The  Future  had  no  hope  left  in  store.  Nothing 
was  left  for  him  but  to  die ! 

Lord  Vargrave  gazed  at  him  in  real  pain,  in  sincere  com- 
passion; for  his  nature,  wily,  deceitful,  perfidious  though  it 
was,  had  cruelty  only  so  far  as  was  necessary  to  the  unrelent- 
ing execution  of  his  schemes.  No  pity  could  swerve  him 
from  a  purpose ;  but  he  had  enough  of  the  man  within  him  to 
feel  pity  not  the  less,  even  for  his  own  victim!  At  length 
Maltravers  lifted  his  head,  and  waved  his  hand  gently  to  Lord 
Vargrave. 

"All  is  now  explained,"  said  he,  in  a  feeble  voice;  "our 
interview  is  over.  I  must  be  alone ;  I  have  yet  to  collect  my 
reason,  to  commune  calmly  and  deliberately  with  myself;  I 
have  to  write  to  her  —  to  invent,  to  lie, — I,  who  believed 
I  could  never,  never  utter,  even  to  an  enemy,  what  was  false! 


362  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES, 

And  I  must  not  soften  the  blow  to  her.  I  must  not  utter  a 
word  of  love,  —  love,  it  is  incest !  I  must  endeavour  brutally 
to  crush  out  the  very  affection  I  created!  She  must  hate  me! 
—  oh,  teach  her  to  hate  me!  Blacken  my  name,  traduce  my 
motives,  —  let  her  believe  them  levity  or  perfidy,  what  you 
will.  So  will  she  forget  me  the  sooner ;  so  will  she  the  easier 
bear  the  sorrow  which  the  father  brings  upon  the  child.  And 
sAe  has  not  sinned!  0  Heaven,  the  sin  was  mine!  Let  my 
punishment  be  a  sacrifice  that  Thou  wilt  accept  for  her!  " 

Lord  Vargrave  attempted  again  to  console;  but  this  time 
the  words  died  upon  his  lips.  His  arts  failed  him.  Mal- 
travers  turned  impatiently  away  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

"I  will  see  you  again,"  said  he,  "before  I  quit  Paris;  leave 
your  address  below." 

Vargrave  was  not,  perhaps,  unwilling  to  terminate  a  scene 
so  painful :  he  muttered  a  few  incoherent  words,  and  abruptly 
withdrew.  He  heard  the  door  locked  behind  him  as  he  de- 
parted.    Ernest  Maltravers  was  alone !  —  what  a  solitude  1 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Pitt  me  not,  but  lend  thy  serious  hearing 
To  what  I  shall  unfold.  —  Hamlet. 

LETTER  FROM  ERNEST  MALTRAVERS  TO  EVELYN 
CAMERON. 

Evelyn  ! 

All  that  you  have  read  of  faithlessness  and  perfidy  will 
seem  tame  to  you  when  compared  with  that  conduct  which 
you  are  doomed  to  meet  from  me.  We  must  part,  and  for- 
ever. We  have  seen  each  other  for  the  last  time.  It  is  boot- 
less even  to  ask  the  cause.  Believe  that  I  am  fickle,  false, 
heartless,  —  that  a  whim  has  changed  me,  if  you  will.  My 
resolve  is  unalterable.  We  meet  no  more  even  as  friends.  I 
do  not  ask  you  either  to  forgive  or  to  remember  me.     Look  on 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  363 

me  as  one  wholly  unworthy  even  of  resentment !  Do  not  think 
that  I  write  this  in  madness  or  in  fever  or  excitement.  Judge 
me  not  by  my  seeming  illness  this  morning.  I  invent  no 
excuse,  no  extenuation,  for  my  broken  faith  and  perjured  vows. 
Calmly,  coldly,  and  deliberately  I  write;  and  thus  writing,  I 
renounce  your  love. 

This  language  is  wanton  cruelty,  —  it  is  fiendish  insult,  — 
is  it  not,  Evelyn?  Am  I  not  a  villain?  Are  you  not  grateful 
for  your  escape?  Do  you  not  look  on  the  past  with  a  shudder 
at  the  precipice  on  which  you  stood? 

I  have  done  with  this  subject,  —  I  turn  to  another.  We  are 
parted,  Evelyn,  and  forever.  Do  not  fancy,  —  I  repeat,  do 
not  fancy  that  there  is  any  error,  any  strange  infatuation  on 
my  mind,  that  there  is  any  possibility  that  the  sentence  can 
be  annulled.  It  were  almost  easier  to  call  the  dead  from  the 
grave  than  bring  us  again  together,  as  we  were  and  as  we 
hoped  to  be.  Now  that  you  are  convinced  of  that  truth, 
learn,  as  soon  as  you  have  recovered  the  first  shock  of  know- 
ing how  much  wickedness  there  is  on  earth,  —  learn  to  turn 
to  the  future  for  happier  and  more  suitable  ties  than  those 
you  could  have  formed  with  me.  You  are  very  young;  in 
youth  our  first  impressions  are  lively  but  evanescent,  —  you 
will  wonder  hereafter  at  having  fancied  you  loved  me.  An- 
other and  a  fairer  image  will  replace  mine.  This  is  what  I 
desire  and  pray  for.  As  soon  as  I  learn  that  you  love  another, 
that  you  are  wedded  to  another,  I  will  re-appear  in  the  world  ; 
till  then,  I  am  a  wanderer  and  an  exile.  Your  hand  alone  can 
efface  from  my  brow  the  brand  of  Cain !  When  I  am  gone, 
Lord  Vargrave  will  probably  renew  his  suit.  I  would  rather 
you  married  one  of  your  own  years,  —  one  whom  you  could 
love  fondly,  one  who  would  chase  away  every  remembrance  of 
the  wretch  who  now  forsakes  you.  But  perhaps  I  have  mis- 
taken Lord  Vargrave's  character;  perhaps  he  maybe  worthier 
of  you  than  I  deemed  (/  who  set  up  for  the  censor  of  other 
men !) ;  perhaps  he  may  both  win  and  deserve  your  affection. 

Evelyn,  farewell !  God,  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb,  will  watch  over  you ! 

Ernest  Maltbavees. 


364  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER   V. 

OuK  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 

The  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  stiU.  — John  Fletcher. 

The  next  morning  came ;  the  carriage  was  at  the  door  of 
Maltravers,  to  bear  him  away  he  cared  not  whither.  Where 
could  he  fly  from  memory?  He  had  just  despatched  the  letter 
to  Evelyn,  —  a  letter  studiously  written  for  the  object  of  de- 
stroying all  the  affection  to  which  he  had  so  fondly  looked  as 
the  last  charm  of  life.  He  was  now  only  waiting  for  Var- 
grave,  to  whom  he  had  sent,  and  who  hastened  to  obey  the 
summons. 

When  Lumley  arrived,  he  was  shocked  at  the  alteration 
which  a  single  night  had  effected  in  the  appearance  of  Mal- 
travers ;  but  he  was  surprised  and  relieved  to  find  him  calm 
and  self-possessed. 

"Vargrave,"  said  Maltravers,  "whatever  our  past  coldness, 
henceforth  I  owe  to  you  an  eternal  gratitude ;  and  henceforth 
this  awful  secret  makes  between  us  an  indissoluble  bond.  If 
I  have  understood  you  rightly,  neither  Alice  nor  other  living 
being  than  yourself  know  that  in  me,  Ernest  Maltravers, 
stands  the  guilty  object  of  Alice's  first  love.  Let  that  secret 
still  be  kept;  relieve  Alice's  mind  from  the  apprehension  of 
learning  that  the  man  who  betrayed  her  yet  lives :  he  will  not 
live  long !  I  leave  time  and  method  of  explanation  to  your 
own  judgment  and  acuteness.  Now  for  Evelyn."  Here  Mal- 
travers stated  generally  the  tone  of  the  letter  he  had  written. 
Vargrave  listened  thoughtfully. 

"Maltravers,"  said  he,  "it  is  right  to  try  first  the  effect  of 
your  letter.  But  if  it  fail,  if  it  only  serve  to  inflame  the 
imagination  and  excite  the  interest,  if  Evelyn  still  continue 
to  love  you,  if  that  love  preys  upon  her,  if  it  should  under- 
mine health  and  spirit,  if  it  should  destroy  her?  " 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  365 

Maltravers  groaned.  Lumley  proceeded :  "  I  say  this  not  to 
wound  you,  but  to  provide  against  all  circumstances.  I  too 
have  spent  the  night  in  revolving  what  is  best  to  be  done  in 
such  a  case;  and  this  is  the  plan  I  have  formed.  Let  us, 
if  need  be,  tell  the  truth  to  Evelyn,  robbing  the  truth  only  of 
its  shame.  Kay,  nay,  listen.  Why  not  say  that  under  a  bor- 
rowed name  and  in  the  romance  of  early  youth  you  knew  and 
loved  Alice  (though  in  innocence  and  honour)?  Your  tender 
age,  the  difference  of  rank,  forbade  your  union.  Her  father, 
discovering  your  clandestine  correspondence,  suddenly  re- 
moved her  from  the  country,  and  destroyed  all  clew  for 
your  inquiries.  You  lost  sight  of  each  other, — each  was 
taught  to  believe  the  other  dead.  Alice  was  compelled  by 
her  father  to  marry  Mr.  Cameron;  and  after  his  death,  her 
poverty  and  her  love  for  her  only  child  induced  her  to  accept 
my  uncle.  You  have  now  learned  all,  —  have  learned  that 
Evelyn  is  the  daughter  of  your  first  love,  the  daughter  of  one 
who  adores  you  still,  and  whose  life  your  remembrance  has  for 
so  many  years  embittered.  Evelyn  herself  will  at  once  com- 
prehend all  the  scruples  of  a  delicate  mind;  Evelyn  herself 
will  recoil  from  the  thought  of  making  the  child  the  rival  to 
the  mother.  She  will  understand  why  you  have  flown  from 
her ;  she  will  sympathize  with  your  struggles ;  she  will  recall 
the  constant  melancholy  of  Alice ;  she  will  hope  that  the  ancient 
love  maybe  renewed,  and  efface  all  grief;  Generosity  and  Duty 
alike  will  urge  her  to  conquer  her  own  affection!  And  here- 
after, when  time  has  restored  you  both,  father  and  child  may 
meet  with  such  sentiments  as  father  and  child  may  own! " 

Maltravers  was  silent  for  some  minutes;  at  length  he  said 
abruptly,  "  And  you  really  loved  her,  Vargrave,  —  you  love 
her  still?    Your  dearest  care  must  be  her  welfare." 

"It  is!  indeed,  it  is!" 

"  Then  I  must  trust  to  your  discretion ;  I  can  have  no  other 
confidant;  I  myself  am  not  fit  to  judge.  My  mind  is  dark- 
ened—  you  may  be  right  —  I  think  so." 

"  One  word  more,  —  she  may  discredit  my  tale,  if  unsup- 
ported. Will  you  write  one  line  to  me  to  say  that  I  am 
authorized  to  reveal  the  secret,  and  that  it  is  known  only  to 


866  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

me?  I  will  not  use  it  unless  I  should  think  it  absolutely 
required." 

Hastily  and  mechanically  Maltravers  wrote  a  few  words  to 
the  effect  of  what  Lumley  had  suggested.  "I  will  inform 
you,"  he  said  to  Vargrave  as  he  gave  him  the  paper,  "of  what- 
ever spot  may  become  my  asylum ;  and  you  can  communicate 
to  me  all  that  I  dread  and  long  to  hear;  but  let  no  man  know 
the  refuge  of  despair! " 

There  was  positively  a  tear  in  Vargrave 's  cold  eye, — the 
only  tear  that  had  glistened  there  for  many  years ;  he  paused 
irresolute,  then  advanced,  again  halted,  muttered  to  himself, 
and  turned  aside. 

"As  for  the  world,"  Lumley  resumed,  after  a  pause,  "your 
engagement  has  been  public,  —  some  public  account  of  its 
breach  must  be  invented.  You  have  always  been  considered 
a  proud  man ;  we  will  say  that  it  was  low  birth  on  the  side  of 
both  mother  and  father  (the  last  only  just  discovered)  that 
broke  off  the  alliance !  " 

Vargrave  was  talking  to  the  deaf :  what  cared  Maltravers  for 
the  world?  He  hastened  from  the  room,  threw  himself  into 
his  carriage,  and  Vargrave  was  left  to  plot,  to  hope,  and  to 
aspire ! 


BOOK    X. 


OlKov  Oviipov.  —  HOMEE,  I,  3. 
"A  dream!" 


CHAPTER  I. 

QcALis  ubi  in  lucern  coluber 

.    .     .    Mala  gramina  pastus.^  —  Virgil. 

Pars  minima  est  ipsa  paella  sui.^  —  Ovid. 

It  would  be  superfluous,  and,  perhaps,  a  sickening  task,  to 
detail  at  length  the  mode  and  manner  in  which  Vargrave 
coiled  his  snares  round  the  unfortunate  girl  whom  his  destiny- 
had  marked  out  for  his  prey.  He  was  right  in  foreseeing 
that,  after  the  first  amazement  caused  by  the  letter  of  Mal- 
travers,  Evelyn  would  feel  resentment  crushed  beneath  her 
certainty  of  his  affection  her  incredulity  at  his  self-accusa- 
tions, and  her  secret  conviction  that  some  reverse,  some  mis- 
fortune he  was  unwilling  she  should  share,  was  the  occasion 
of  his  farewell  and  flight.  Vargrave  therefore  very  soon 
communicated  to  Evelyn  the  tale  he  had  suggested  to  Mal- 
travers.  He  reminded  her  of  the  habitual  sorrow,  the  evi- 
dence of  which  was  so  visible  in  Lady  Vargrave;  of  her 
indifference  to  the  pleasures  of  the  world;  of  her  sensitive 
shrinking  from  all  recurrence  to  her  early  fate.  "The  secret 
of  this, "  said  he,  "  is  in  a  youthful  and  most  fervent  attach- 
ment ;  your  mother  loved  a  young  stranger  above  her  in  rank, 

1  "  As  when  a  snake  glides  into  light,  having  fed  on  pernicious  pastures." 

2  "  The  girl  is  the  least  part  of  himself." 


368  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

who  (his  head  being  full  of  German  romance)  was  then  roam- 
ing about  the  country  on  pedestrian  and  adventurous  excur- 
sions, under  the  assumed  name  of  Butler.  By  him  she  was 
most  ardently  beloved  in  return.  Her  father,  perhaps,  sus- 
pected the  rank  of  her  lover,  and  was  fearful  of  her  honour 
being  compromised.  He  was  a  strange  man,  that  father!  and 
I  know  not  his  real  character  and  motives ;  but  he  suddenly 
withdrew  his  daughter  from  the  suit  and  search  of  her  lover, 
—  they  saw  each  other  no  more ;  her  lover  mourned  her  as  one 
dead.  In  process  of  time  your  mother  was  constrained  by  her 
father  to  marry  Mr.  Cameron,  and  was  left  a  widow  with  an 
only  child, — yourself:  she  was  poor, — very  poor!  and  her 
love  and  anxiety  for  you  at  last  induced  her  to  listen  to  the 
addresses  of  my  late  uncle;  for  your  sake  she  married  again; 
again  death  dissolved  the  tie!  But  still,  unceasingly  and 
faithfully,  she  recalled  that  first  love,  the  memory  of  which 
darkened  and  embittered  all  her  life,  and  still  she  lived  upon 
the  hope  to  meet  with  the  lost  again.  At  last,  and  most 
recently,  it  was  my  fate  to  discover  that  the  object  of  this 
unconquerable  affection  lived,  —  was  still  free  in  hand  if  not 
in  heart:  you  behold  the  lover  of  your  mother  in  Ernest  Mal- 
travers !  It  devolved  on  me  (an  invidious  —  a  reluctant  duty) 
to  inform  Maltravers  of  the  identity  of  Lady  Vargrave  with 
the  Alice  of  his  boyish  passion ;  to  prove  to  him  her  suffering, 
patient,  unsubdued  affection;  to  convince  him  that  the  sole 
hope  left  to  her  in  life  was  that  of  one  day  or  other  beholding 
him  once  again.  You  know  Maltravers,  — his  high- wrought, 
sensitive,  noble  character;  he  recoiled  in  terror  from  the 
thought  of  making  his  love  to  the  daughter  the  last  and  bit- 
terest affliction  to  the  mother  he  had  so  loved;  knowing  too 
how  completely  that  mother  had  entwined  herself  round  your 
affections,  he  shuddered  at  the  pain  and  self-reproach  that 
would  be  yours  when  you  should  discover  to  whom  you  had 
been  the  rival,  and  whose  the  fond  hopes  and  dreams  that 
your  fatal  beauty  had  destroyed.  Tortured,  despairing,  and 
half  beside  himself,  he  has  fled  from  this  ill-omened  passion, 
and  in  solitude  he  now  seeks  to  subdue  that  passion.  Touched 
by  the  woe,  the  grief,  of  the  Alice  of  his  youth,  it  is  his  inten- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  369 

tion,  as  soon  as  he  can  know  you  restored  to  happiness  and 
content,  to  hasten  to  your  mother,  and  offer  his  future  devo- 
tion as  the  fulfilment  of  former  vows.  On  you,  and  you 
alone,  it  depends  to  restore  Maltravers  to  the  world,  —  on 
you  alone  it  depends  to  bless  the  remaining  years  of  the 
mother  who  so  dearly  loves  you !  " 

It  may  be  easily  conceived  with  what  sensations  of  wonder, 
compassion,  and  dismay,  Evelyn  listened  to  this  tale,  the 
progress  of  which  her  exclamations,  her  sobs,  often  inter- 
rupted. She  would  write  instantly  to  her  mother,  to  Mal- 
travers. Oh,  how  gladly  she  would  relinquish  his  suit! 
How  cheerfully  promise  to  rejoice  in  that  desertion  which 
brought  happiness  to  the  mother  she  had  so  loved ! 

"Kay,"  said  Vargrave,  "your  mother  must  not  know,  till 
the  intelligence  can  be  breathed  by  his  lips,  and  softened  by 
his  protestations  of  returning  affection,  that  the  mysterious 
object  of  her  early  romance  is  that  Maltravers  whose  vows 
have  been  so  lately  offered  to  her  own  child.  Would  not  such 
intelligence  shock  all  pride,  and  destroy  all  hope?  How  could 
she  then  consent  to  the  sacrifice  which  Maltravers  is  prepared 
to  make?  No!  not  till  you  are  another's  —  not  (to  use  the 
words  of  Maltravers)  till  you  are  a  happy  and  beloved  wife  — 
must  your  mother  receive  the  returning  homage  of  Maltravers ; 
not  till  then  can  she  know  where  that  homage  has  been  re- 
cently rendered ;  not  till  then  can  Maltravers  feel  justified  in 
the  atonement  he  meditates.  He  is  willing  to  sacrifice  him- 
self; he  trembles  at  the  thought  of  sacrificing  you!  Say 
nothing  to  your  mother,  till  from  her  own  lips  she  tells  you 
that  she  has  learned  all." 

Could  Evelyn  hesitate;  could  Evelyn  doubt?  To  allay  the 
fears,  to  fulfil  the  prayers  of  the  man  whose  conduct  appeared 
so  generous,  to  restore  him  to  peace  and  the  world ;  above  all, 
to  pluck  from  the  heart  of  that  beloved  and  gentle  mother  the 
rankling  dart,  to  shed  happiness  over  her  fate,  to  reunite  her 
with  the  loved  and  lost,  — what  sacrifice  too  great  for  this? 

Ah,  why  was  Legard  absent?  Why  did  she  believe  him 
capricious,  light,  and  false?  Why  had  she  shut  her  softest 
thoughts  from  her  soul?    But  he  —  the  true  lover  —  was  afar, 

24 


870  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  his  true  love  unknown!  and  Vargrave,  the  watchful  ser- 
pent, was  at  hand. 

In  a  fatal  hour,  and  in  the  transport  of  that  enthusiasm 
which  inspires  alike  our  more  rash  and  our  more  sublime 
deeds,  which  makes  us  alike  dupes  and  martyrs,  — the  enthu- 
siasm that  tramples  upon  self,  that  forfeits  all  things  to  a 
high-wrought  zeal  for  others,  Evelyn  consented  to  become  the 
wife  of  Vargrave !  Nor  was  she  at  first  sensible  of  the  sacri- 
fice, —  sensible  of  anything  but  the  glow  of  a  noble  spirit  and 
an  approving  conscience.  Yes,  thus,  and  thus  alone,  did  she 
obey  both  duties,  —  that,  which  she  had  well-nigh  abandoned, 
to  her  dead  benefactor,  and  that  to  the  living  mother.  After- 
wards came  a  dread  reaction;  and  then,  at  last,  that  passive 
and  sleep-like  resignation,  which  is  Despair  under  a  milder 
name.  Yes,  —  such  a  lot  had  been  predestined  from  the  first ; 
in  vain  had  she  sought  to  fly  it :  Fate  had  overtaken  her,  and 
she  must  submit  to  the  decree ! 

She  was  most  anxious  that  the  intelligence  of  the  new  bond 
might  be  transmitted  instantly  to  Maltravers.  Vargrave 
promised,  but  took  care  not  to  perform.  He  was  too  acute 
not  to  know  that  in  so  sudden  a  step  Evelyn's  motives  would 
be  apparent,  and  his  own  suit  indelicate  and  ungenerous. 
He  was  desirous  that  Maltravers  should  learn  nothing  till 
the  vows  had  been  spoken,  and  the  indissoluble  chain  forged. 
Afraid  to  leave  Evelyn,  even  for  a  day,  afraid  to  trust  her  in 
England  to  an  interview  with  her  mother,  —  he  remained  at 
Paris,  and  hurried  on  all  the  requisite  preparations.  He  sent 
to  Douce,  who  came  in  person,  with  the  deeds  necessary  for 
the  transfer  of  the  money  for  the  purchase  of  Lisle  Court, 
which  was  now  to  be  immediately  completed.  The  money 
was  to  be  lodged  in  Mr.  Douce 's  bank  till  the  lawyers  had 
completed  their  operations ;  and  in  a  few  weeks,  when  Evelyn 
had  attained  the  allotted  age,  Vargrave  trusted  to  see  himself 
lord  alike  of  the  betrothed  bride,  and  the  hereditary  lands  of 
the  crushed  Maltravers.  He  refrained  from  stating  to  Evelyn 
who  was  the  present  proprietor  of  the  estate  to  become  hers ; 
he  foresaw  all  the  objections  she  would  form; — and,  indeed, 
she  was  unable  to  think,  to  talk,  of  such   matters.     One 


ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES.  871 

favour  she  had  asked,  and  it  had  been  granted,  —  that  she 
was  to  be  left  unmolested  to  her  solitude  till  the  fatal  day. 
Shut  up  in  her  lonely  room,  condemned  not  to  confide  her 
thoughts,  to  seek  for  sympathy  even  in  her  mother, — the 
poor  girl  in  vain  endeavoured  to  keep  up  to  the  tenor  of  her 
first  enthusiasm,  and  reconcile  herself  to  a  step,  which,  how- 
ever, she  was  heroine  enough  not  to  retract  or  to  repent,  even 
while  she  recoiled  from  its  contemplation. 

Lady  Doltimore,  amazed  at  what  had  passed,  —  at  the  flight 
of  Maltravers,  the  success  of  Lumley,  —  unable  to  account  for 
it,  to  extort  explanation  from  Vargrave  or  from  Evelyn,  was 
distracted  by  the  fear  of  some  villanous  deceit  which  she  could 
not  fathom.  To  escape  herself  she  plunged  yet  more  eagerly 
into  the  gay  vortex.  Vargrave,  suspicious,  and  fearful  of 
trusting  to  what  she  might  say  in  her  nervous  and  excited 
temper  if  removed  from  his  watchful  eye,  deemed  himself 
compelled  to  hover  round  her.  His  manner,  his  conduct,  were 
most  guarded;  but  Caroline  herself,  jealous,  irritated,  unset- 
tled, evinced  at  times  a  right  both  to  familiarity  and  anger, 
which  drew  upon  her  and  himself  the  sly  vigilance  of  slander. 
Meanwhile  Lord  Doltimore,  though  too  cold  and  proud  openly 
to  notice  what  passed  around  him,  seemed  disturbed  and 
anxious.  His  manner  to  Vargrave  was  distant;  he  shunned 
all  tete-a-tetes  with  his  wife.  Little,  however,  of  this  did 
Lumley  heed.  A  few  weeks  more,  and  all  would  be  well  and 
safe.  Vargrave  did  not  publish  his  engagement  with  Evelyn : 
he  sought  carefully  to  conceal  it  till  the  very  day  was  near  at 
hand;  but  it  was  whispered  abroad;  some  laughed,  some  be- 
lieved. Evelyn  herself  was  seen  nowhere.  De  Montaigne 
had,  at  first,  been  indignantly  incredulous  at  the  report  that 
Maltravers  had  broken  off  a  connection  he  had  so  desired  from 
a  motive  so  weak  and  unworthy  as  that  of  mere  family  pride. 
A  letter  from  Maltravers,  who  confided  to  him  and  Vargrave 
alone  the  secret  of  his  retreat,  reluctantly  convinced  him  that 
the  wise  are  but  pompous  fools ;  he  was  angry  and  disgusted ; 
and  still  more  so  when  Valerie  and  Teresa  (for  female  friends 
stand  by  us  right  or  wrong)  hinted  at  excuses,  or  surmised 
that  other  causes  lurked  behind  the  one  alleged.     But  his 


372  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

thoughts  were  much  drawn  from  this  subject  by  increasing 
anxiety  for  Cesarini,  whose  abode  and  fate  still  remained  an 
alarming  mystery. 

It  so  happened  that  Lord  Doltimore,  who  had  always  had  a 
taste  for  the  antique,  and  who  was  greatly  displeased  with 
his  own  family-seat  because  it  was  comfortable  and  modern, 
fell,  from  ennui,  into  a  habit,  fashionable  enough  in  Paris,  of 
buying  curiosities  and  cabinets,  —  high-back  chairs  and  oak- 
carvings;  and  with  this  habit  returned  the  desire  and  the 
affection  for  Burleigh.  Understanding  from  Lumley  that 
Maltravers  had  probably  left  his  native  land  forever,  he 
imagined  it  extremely  probable  that  the  latter  would  now 
consent  to  the  sale,  and  he  begged  Vargrave  to  forward  a 
letter  from  him  to  that  effect. 

Vargrave  made  some  excuse,  for  he  felt  that  nothing  could 
be  more  indelicate  than  such  an  application  forwarded  through 
his  hands  at  such  a  time;  and  Doltimore,  who  had  acciden- 
tally heard  De  Montaigne  confess  that  he  knew  the  address 
of  Maltravers,  quietly  sent  his  letter  to  the  Frenchman,  and, 
without  mentioning  its  contents,  begged  him  to  forward  it. 
De  Montaigne  did  so.  Now  it  is  very  strange  how  slight 
men  and  slight  incidents  bear  on  the  great  events  of  life ;  but 
that  simple  letter  was  instrumental  to  a  new  .revolution  in  the 
strange  history  of  Maltravers. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Quid  fmstra  simulacra  fugacia  captas  1  — 
Quod  petis  est  nusquam.^  —  Ovid  :  Met.  iii.  432. 

To  no  clime  dedicated  to  the  indulgence  of  majestic  griefs 
or  to  the  soft  melancholy  of  regret  —  not  to  thy  glaciers,  or 
thy  dark-blue  lakes,  beautiful  Switzerland,  mother  of  many 

1  «  Why,  in  vain,  do  you  catch  at  fleeting  shadows  1  That  which  you  seek 
is  nowhere." 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  373 

exiles;  nor  to  thy  fairer  earth  and  gentler  heaven,  sweet 
Italy,  — fled  the  agonized  Maltravers.  Once,  in  his  wander- 
ings, he  had  chanced  to  pass  by  a  landscape  so  steeped  in 
sullen  and  desolate  gloom,  that  it  had  made  a  powerful  and 
unefEaced  impression  upon  his  mind:  it  was  amidst  those 
swamps  and  morasses  that  formerly  surrounded  the  castle  of 
Gil  de  Retz,  the  ambitious  Lord,  the  dreaded  Necromancer, 
who  perished  at  the  stake,  after  a  career  of  such  power  and 
splendour  as  seemed  almost  to  justify  the  dark  belief  in  his 
preternatural  agencies. ^ 

Here,  in  a  lonely  and  wretched  inn,  remote  from  other 
habitations,  Maltravers  fixed  himself.  In  gentler  griefs  there 
is  a  sort  of  luxury  in  bodily  discomfort ;  in  his  inexorable  and 
unmitigated  anguish,  bodily  discomfort  was  not  felt.  There 
is  a  kind  of  magnetism  in  extreme  woe,  by  which  the  body 
itself  seems  laid  asleep,  and  knows  no  distinction  between  the 
bed  of  Damiens  and  the  rose-couch  of  the  Sybarite.  He  left 
his  carriage  and  servants  at  a  post-house  some  miles  distant. 
He  came  to  this  dreary  abode  alone;  and  in  that  wintry  sea- 
son, and  that  most  disconsolate  scene,  his  gloomy  soul  found 
something  congenial,  something  that  did  not  mock  him,  in 
the  frowns  of  the  haggard  and  dismal  Nature.  Vain  would  it 
be  to  describe  what  he  then  felt,  what  he  then  endured.  Suf- 
fice it  that,  through  all,  the  diviner  strength  of  man  was  not 
wholly  crushed,  and  that  daily,  nightly,  hourly,  he  prayed  to 
the  Great  Comforter  to  assist  him  in  wrestling  against  a  guilty 
love.  No  man  struggles  so  honestly,  so  ardently  as  he  did, 
utterly  in  vain;  for  in  us  all,  if  we  would  but  cherish  it, 
there  is  a  spirit  that  must  rise  at  last  —  a  crowned,  if  bleed- 
ing conqueror  —  over  Fate  and  all  the  Demons ! 

One  day  after  a  prolonged  silence  from  Vargrave,  whose 
letters  all  breathed  comfort  and  assurance  in  Evelyn's  pro- 
gressive recovery  of  spirit  and  hope,  his  messenger  returned 
from  the  post-town  with  a  letter  in  the  hand  of  De  Montaigne. 
It  contained,  in  a  blank  envelope  (De  Montaigne's  silence  told 

1  See,  for  description  of  this  scenery,  and  the  fate  of  De  Retz,  the  high- 
wronght  and  glowing  romance  by  Mr.  Ritchie  called  "  The  Magician." 


374  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MrSTERIES. 

him  how  much  he  had  lost  in  the  esteem  of  his  friend),  the 
communication  of  Lord  Doltimore.     It  ran  thus :  — 

My  dear  Sir,  —  As  T  hear  that  your  plans  are  likely  to  make  you  a 
long  resident  on  the  Continent,  may  I  again  inquire  if  you  would  be  in- 
duced to  dispose  of  Burleigh  ?  I  am  willing  to  give  more  than  its  real 
value,  and  would  raise  a  mortgage  on  my  own  property  sufficient  to  pay 
off,  at  once,  the  whole  purchase-money.  Perhaps  you  may  be  the  more 
induced  to  the  sale  from  the  circumstance  of  having  an  example  in  the 
head  of  your  family.  Colonel  Maltravers,  as  I  learn  through  Lord  Var- 
grave,  having  resolved  to  dispose  of  Lisle  Court.  Waiting  your  answer, 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  truly  yours, 

Doltimore. 

"Ay,"  said  Maltravers,  bitterly,  crushing  the  letter  in  his 
hand,  "  let  our  name  be  blotted  out  from  the  land,  and  our 
hearths  pass  to  the  stranger.  How  could  I  ever  visit  the 
place  where  I  first  saw  her  ?  " 

He  resolved  at  once,  — he  would  write  to  England,  and 
place  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  agents.  This  was  but  a 
short-lived  diversion  to  his  thoughts,  and  their  cloudy  dark- 
ness soon  gathered  round  him  again. 

What  I  am  now  about  to  relate  may  appear,  to  a  hasty 
criticism,  to  savour  of  the  Supernatural;  but  it  is  easily 
accounted  for  by  ordinary  agencies,  and  it  is  strictly  to  the 
letter  of  the  truth. 

In  his  sleep  that  night  a  dream  appeared  to  Maltravers. 
He  thought  he  was  alone  in  the  old  library  at  Burleigh,  and 
gazing  on  the  portrait  of  his  mother ;  as  he  so  gazed,  he  fancied 
that  a  cold  and  awful  tremor  seized  upon  him,  that  he  in  vain 
endeavoured  to  withdraw  his  eyes  from  the  canvas  —  his  sight 
was  chained  there  by  an  irresistible  spell.  Then  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  portrait  gradually  changed,  —  the  features  the 
same,  but  the  bloom  vanished  into  a  white  and  ghastly  hue ; 
the  colours  of  the  dress  faded,  their  fashion  grew  more  large 
and  flowing,  but  heavy  and  rigid  as  if  cut  in  stone,  —  the 
robes  of  the  grave.  But  on  the  face  there  was  a  soft  and 
melancholy  smile,  that  took  from  its  livid  aspect  the  natural 
horror;  the  lips  moved,  and,  it  seemed  as  if  without  a  sound, 
the  released  soul  spoke  to  that  which  the  earth  yet  owned. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  875 

"Return,"  it  said,  "to  thy  native  land,  and  thine  own 
home.  Leave  not  the  last  relic  of  her  who  bore  and  yet 
watches  over  thee  to  stranger  hands.  Thy  good  Angel  shall 
meet  thee  at  thy  hearth !  " 

The  voice  ceased.  With  a  violent  effort  Maltravers  broke 
the  spell  that  had  forbidden  his  utterance.  He  called  aloud, 
and  the  dream  vanished :  he  was  broad  awake,  his  hair  erect, 
the  cold  dews  on  his  brow.  The  pallet,  rather  than  bed  on 
which  he  lay,  was  opposite  to  the  window,  and  the  wintry 
moonlight  streamed  wan  and  spectral  into  the  cheerless  room. 
But  between  himself  and  the  light  there  seemed  to  stand  a 
shape,  a  shadow,  that  into  which  the  portrait  had  changed  in 
his  dream,  —  that  which  had  accosted  and  chilled  his  soul. 
He  sprang  forward,  "My  mother!  even  in  the  grave  canst 
thou  bless  thy  wretched  son!  Oh,  leave  me  not  —  say  that 
thou  — "  The  delusion  vanished,  and  Maltravers  fell  back 
insensible. 

It  was  long  in  vain,  when,  in  the  healthful  light  of  day,  he 
revolved  this  memorable  dream,  that  Maltravers  sought  to 
convince  himself  that  dreams  need  no  ministers  from  heaven 
or_.hell  to  bring  the  gliding  falsehoods  along  the  paths  of 
sleep;  that  the  effect  of  that  dream  itself,  on  his  shattered 
nerves,  his  excited  fancy,  was  the  real  and  sole  raiser  of  the 
spectre  he  had  thought  to  behold  on  waking.  Long  was  it 
before  his  judgment  could  gain  the  victory,  and  reason  dis- 
own the  empire  of  a  turbulent  imagination ;  and  even  when 
at  length  reluctantly  convinced,  the  dream  still  haunted  him, 
and  he  could  not  shake  it  from  his  breast.  He  longed  anx- 
iously for  the  next  night;  it  came,  but  it  brought  neither 
dreams  nor  sleep,  and  the  rain  beat,  and  the  winds  howled, 
against  the  casement.  Another  night,  and  the  moon  was 
again  bright;  and  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep;  no  vision  dis- 
turbed or  hallowed  it.  He  woke  ashamed  of  his  own  expec- 
tation. But  the  event,  such  as  it  was,  by  giving  a  new  turn 
to  his  thoughts,  had  roused  and  relieved  his  spirit,  and  misery 
sat  upon  him  with  a  lighter  load.  Perhaps,  too,  to  that  still 
haunting  recollection  was  mainly  owing  a  change  in  his 
former  purpose.     He  would  still  sell  the  old  Hall;   but  he 


376  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

would  first  return,  and  remove  that  holy  portrait,  with  pious 
hands ;  he  would  garner  up  and  save  all  that  had  belonged  to 
her  whose  death  had  been  his  birth.  Ah,  never  had  she 
known  for  what  trials  the  infant  had  been  reserved! 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  weary  hours  steal  on 
And  flaky  darkness  breaks.  —  Richard  III. 

Once  more,  suddenly  and  unlooked  for,  the  lord  of  Burleigh 
appeared  at  the  gates  of  his  deserted  hall !  and  again  the  old 
housekeeper  and  her  satellites  were  thrown  into  dismay  and 
consternation.  Amidst  blank  and  welcomeless  faces,  Mal- 
travers  passed  into  his  study :  and  as  soon  as  the  logs  burned 
and  the  bustle  was  over,  and  he  was  left  alone,  he  took  up 
the  light  and  passed  into  the  adjoining  library.  It  was  then 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening;  the  air  of  the  room  felt 
damp  and  chill,  and  the  light  but  faintly  struggled  against 
the  mournful  gloom  of  the  dark  book-lined  walls  and  sombre 
tapestry.  He  placed  the  candle  on  the  table,  and  drawing 
aside  the  curtain  that  veiled  the  portrait,  gazed  with  deep 
emotion,  not  unmixed  with  awe,  upon  the  beautiful  face 
whose  eyes  seemed  fixed  upon  him  with  mournful  sweetness. 
There  is  something  mystical  about  those  painted  ghosts  of 
ourselves,  that  survive  our  very  dust!  Who,  gazing  upon 
them  long  and  wistfully,  does  not  half  fancy  that  they  seem 
not  insensible  to  his  gaze,  as  if  we  looked  our  own  life  into 
them,  and  the  eyes  that  followed  us  where  we  moved  were 
animated  by  a  stranger  art  than  the  mere  trick  of  the  limner's 
colours? 

With  folded  arms,  rapt  and  motionless,  Maltravers  contem- 
plated the  form  that,  by  the  upward  rays  of  the  flickering 
light,  seemed  to  bend  down  towards  the  desolate  son.  How 
had  he  ever  loved  the  memory  of  his  mother !  how  often  in 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  377 

his  childish  years  had  he  stolen  away,  and  shed  wild  tears  for 
the  loss  of  that  dearest  of  earthly  ties,  never  to  be  compen- 
sated, never  to  be  replaced!  How  had  he  respected,  how 
sympathized  with  the  very  repugnance  which  his  father  had 
at  first  testified  towards  him,  as  the  innocent  cause  of  her 
untimely  death !  He  had  never  seen  her,  —  never  felt  her 
passionate  kiss ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  gazed,  as  if 
he  had  known  her  for  years.  That  strange  kind  of  inner  and 
spiritual  memory  which  often  recalls  to  us  places  and  persons 
we  have  never  seen  before,  and  which  Platonists  would  re- 
solve to  the  unquenched  and  struggling  consciousness  of  a 
former  life,  stirred  within  him,  and  seemed  to  whisper,  "You 
were  united  in  the  old  time."  "Yes!"  he  said,  half  aloud, 
"  we  will  never  part  again.  Blessed  be  the  delusion  of  the 
dream  that  recalled  to  my  heart  the  remembrance  of  thee, 
which,  at  least,  I  can  cherish  without  a  sin.  '  My  good  angel 
shall  meet  me  at  my  hearth  1 '  so  didst  thou  say  in  the  solemn 
vision.  Ah,  does  thy  soul  watch  over  me  still?  How  long 
shall  it  be  before  the  barrier  is  broken !  how  long  before  we 
meet,  but  not  in  dreams !  " 

The  door  opened,  the  housekeeper  looked  in.  "  I  beg  par- 
don, sir,  but  I  thought  your  honour  would  excuse  the  liberty, 
though  I  know  it  is  very  bold  to  —  " 

"What  is  the  matter?    What  do  you  want?" 

"  Why,  sir,  poor  Mrs.  Elton  is  dying,  —  they  say  she 
cannot  get  over  the  night;  and  as  the  carriage  drove  by  the 
cottage  window,  the  nurse  told  her  that  the  squire  was  re- 
turned; and  she  has  sent  up  the  nurse  to  entreat  to  see  your 
honour  before  she  dies.  I  am  sure  I  was  most  loth  to  disturb 
you,  sir,  with  such  a  message ;  and  says  I,  the  squire  has  only 
just  come  off  a  journey  —  " 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Elton?" 

"Don't  your  honour  remember  the  poor  woman  that  was 
run  over,  and  you  were  so  good  to,  and  brought  into  the  house 
the  day  Miss  Cameron  —  " 

"I  remember,  — say  I  will  be  with  her  in  a  few  minutes. 
About  to  die !  "  muttered  Maltravers ;  "  she  is  to  be  envied,  — 
the  prisoner  is  let  loose,  the  bark  leaves  the  desert  isle ! " 


378  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

He  took  his  hat  and  walked  across  the  park,  dimly  lighted 
by  the  stars,  to  the  cottage  of  the  sufferer.  He  reached  her 
bedside,  and  took  her  hand  kindly.  She  seemed  to  rally  at  the 
sight  of  him;  the  nurse  was  dismissed,  they  were  left  alone. 

Before  morning,  the  spirit  had  left  that  humble  clay;  and 
the  mists  of  dawn  were  heavy  on  the  grass  as  Maltravers 
returned  home.  There  were  then  on  his  countenance  the 
traces  of  recent  and  strong  emotion,  and  his  step  was  elastic, 
and  his  cheek  flushed.  Hope  once  more  broke  within  him, 
but  mingled  with  doubt,  and  faintly  combated  by  reason.  In 
another  hour  Maltravers  was  on  his  way  to  Brook-Green. 
Impatient,  restless,  fevered,  he  urged  on  the  horses,  he  sowed 
the  road  with  gold;  and  at  length  the  wheels  stopped  before 
the  door  of  the  village  inn.  He  descended,  asked  the  way 
to  the  curate's  house;  and  crossing  the  burial-ground,  and 
passing  under  the  shadow  of  the  old  yew-tree,  entered 
Aubrey's  garden.  The  curate  was  at  home,  and  the  confer- 
ence that  ensued  was  of  deep  and  breathless  interest  to  the 
visitor. 

It  is  now  time  to  place  before  the  reader,  in  due  order  and 
connection,  the  incidents  of  that  story,  the  knowledge  of 
which,  at  that  period,  broke  in  detached  and  fragmentary 
portions  on  Maltravers. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  CANNA  chuse,  but  ever  will 
Be  luving  to  thy  father  still, 
Whaireir  he  gae,  whaireir  he  ryde, 
My  luve  with  him  maun  still  abyde ; 
In  well  or  wae,  whaireir  he  gae, 
Mine  heart  can  neir  depart  him  frae. 

Lady  Anne  Bothwell's  Lament. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  in  the  earlier  part  of  this 
continuation  of  the  history  of  Maltravers  it  was  stated  that 
Aubrey  had  in  early  life  met  with  the  common  lot  of  a  disap- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  879 

pointed  affection.  Eleanor  Westbrook,  a  young  woman  of  his 
own  humble  rank,  had  won,  and  seemed  to  return,  his  love ; 
but  of  that  love  she  was  not  worthy.  Vain,  volatile,  and 
ambitious,  she  forsook  the  poor  student  for  a  more  brilliant 
marriage.  She  accepted  the  hand  of  a  merchant,  who  was 
caught  by  her  beauty,  and  who  had  the  reputation  of  great 
wealth.  They  settled  in  London,  and  Aubrey  lost  all  traces 
of  her.  She  gave  birth  to  an  only  daughter :  and  when  that 
child  had  attained  her  fourteenth  year,  her  husband  suddenly, 
and  seemingly  without  cause,  put  an  end  to  his  existence. 
The  cause,  however,  was  apparent  before  he  was  laid  in  his 
grave.  He  was  involved  far  beyond  his  fortune, — he  had 
died  to  escape  beggary  and  a  jail.  A  small  annuity,  not 
exceeding  one  hundred  pounds,  had  been  secured  on  the 
widow.  On  this  income  she  retired  with  her  child  into  the 
country ;  and  chance,  the  vicinity  of  some  distant  connections, 
and  the  cheapness  of  the  place,  concurred  to  fix  her  residence 

in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  of  C .     Characters  that  in 

youth  have  been  most  volatile  and  most  worldly,  often  when 
bowed  down  and  dejected  by  the  adversity  which  they  are  not 
fitted  to  encounter,  become  the  most  morbidly  devout;  they 
ever  require  an  excitement,  and  when  earth  denies,  they  seek 
it  impatiently  from  heaven. 

This  was  the  case  with  Mrs.  Westbrook;  and  this  new  turn 
of  mind  brought  her  naturally  into  contact  with  the  principal 
saint  of  the  neighbourhood,  Mr.  Eichard  Templeton,  We 
have  seen  that  that  gentleman  was  not  happy  in  his  first 
marriage;  death  had  not  then  annulled  the  bond.  He  was  of 
an  ardent  and  sensual  temperament,  and  quietly,  under  the 
broad  cloak  of  his  doctrines,  he  indulged  his  constitutional 
tendencies.  Perhaps  in  this  respect  he  was  not  worse  than 
nine  men  out  of  ten.  But  then  he  professed  to  be  better  than 
nine  hundred  thousand  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  men  out 
of  a  million!  To  a  fault  of  temperament  was  added  the  craft 
of  hypocrisy,  and  the  vulgar  error  became  a  dangerous  vice. 
ITpon  Mary  Westbrook,  the  widow's  daughter,  he  gazed  with 
eyes  that  were  far  from  being  the  eyes  of  the  spirit.  Even  at 
the  age  of  fourteen  she  charmed  him ;  but  when,  after  watch- 


380  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

ing  her  ripening  beauty  expand,  three  years  were  added  to 
that  age,  Mr.  Templeton  was  most  deeply  in  love.  Mary  was 
indeed  lovely,  —  her  disposition  naturally  good  and  gentle, 
but  her  education  worse  than  neglected.  To  the  frivolities 
and  meannesses  of  a  second-rate  fashion,  inculcated  into  her 
till  her  father's  death,  had  now  succeeded  the  quackeries,  the 
slavish  subservience,  the  intolerant  bigotries,  of  a  transcen- 
dental superstition.  In  a  change  so  abrupt  and  violent,  the 
whole  character  of  the  poor  girl  was  shaken;  her  principles 
unsettled,  vague,  and  unformed,  and  naturally  of  mediocre 
and  even  feeble  intellect,  she  clung  to  the  first  plank  held  out 
to  her  in  "that  wide  sea  of  wax"  in  which  "she  halted." 
Early  taught  to  place  the  most  implicit  faith  in  the  dictates 
of  Mr.  Templeton,  fastening  h*er  belief  round  him  as  the  vine 
winds  its  tendrils  round  the  oak,  yielding  to  his  ascendency, 
and  pleased  with  his  fostering  and  almost  caressing  manner, 
no  confessor  in  Papal  Italy  ever  was  more  dangerous  to  vil- 
lage virtue  than  Kichard  Templeton  (who  deemed  himself  the 
archetype  of  the  only  pure  Protestantism)  to  the  morals  and 
heart  of  Mary  Westbrook. 

Mrs.  Westbrook,  whose  constitution  had  been  prematurely 
broken  by  long  participation  in  the  excesses  of  London  dissi- 
pation and  by  the  reverse  of  fortune  which  still  preyed  upon  a 
spirit  it  had  rather  soured  than  humbled,  died  when  Mary  was 
eighteen.  Templeton  became  the  sole  friend,  comforter,  and 
supporter  of  the  daughter. 

In  an  evil  hour  (let  us  trust  not  from  premeditated  villany), 
—  an  hour  when  the  heart  of  one  was  softened  by  grief  and 
gratitude,  and  the  conscience  of  the  other  laid  asleep  by  pas- 
sion, the  virtue  of  Mary  Westbrook  was  betrayed.  Her  sor- 
row and  remorse,  his  own  fears  of  detection  and  awakened 
self-reproach,  occasioned  Templeton  the  most  anxious  and 
poignant  regret.  There  had  been  a  young  woman  in  Mrs. 
Westbrook's  service,  who  had  left  it  a  short  time  before  the 
widow  died,  in  consequence  of  her  marriage.  Her  husband 
ill-used  her;  and  glad  to  escape  from  him  and  prove  her  grati- 
tude to  her  employer's  daughter,  of  whom  she  had  been  ex- 
tremely fond,  she  had  returned  to  Miss  Westbrook  after  the 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  381 

funeral  of  her  mother.  The  name  of  this  woman  was  Sarah 
Miles.  Templeton  saw  that  Sarah  more  than  suspected  his 
connection  with  Mary ;  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  confidant, 
—  he  selected  her.  Miss  Westbrook  was  removed  to  a  distant 
part  of  the  country,  and  Templeton  visited  her  cautiously  and 
rarely.  Four  months  afterwards,  Mrs.  Templeton  died,  and 
the  husband  was  free  to  repair  his  wrong.  Oh,  how  he  then 
repented  of  what  had  passed !  but  four  months'  delay,  and  all 
this  sin  and  sorrow  might  have  been  saved!  He  was  now 
racked  with  perplexity  and  doubt :  his  unfortunate  victim  was 
advanced  in  her  pregnancy.  It  was  necessary,  if  he  wished 
his  child  to  be  legitimate  —  still  more  if  he  wished  to  preserve 
the  honour  of  its  mother  —  that  he  should  not  hesitate  long  in 
the  reparation  to  which  duty  and  conscience  urged  him.  But 
on  the  other  hand,  he,  the  saint,  the  oracle,  the  immaculate 
example  for  all  forms,  proprieties,  and  decorums,  to  scandal- 
ize the  world  by  so  rapid  and  premature  a  hymen  — 

"  Ere  yet  the  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 
Had  left  the  flushing  in  his  galled  eyes, 
To  marry." 

Xo!  he  could  not  brave  the  sneer  of  the  gossips,  the  triumph 
of  his  foes,  the  dejection  of  his  disciples,  by  so  rank  and  rash 
a  folly.  But  still  Mary  pined  so,  he  feared  for  her  health  — 
for  his  own  unborn  offspring.  There  was  a  middle  path,  — a 
compromise  between  duty  and  the  world;  he  grasped  at  it  as 
most  men  similarly  situated  would  have  done,  —  they  were 
married,  but  privately,  and  under  feigned  names:  the  secret 
was  kept  close.  Sarah  Miles  was  the  only  witness  acquainted 
with  the  real  condition  and  names  of  the  parties. 

Reconciled  to  herself,  the  bride  recovered  health  and  spirits, 
Templeton  formed  the  most  sanguine  hopes.  He  resolved,  as 
soon  as  the  confinement  was  over,  to  go  abroad ;  Mary  should 
follow;  in  a  foreign  land  they  should  be  publicly  married; 
they  would  remain  some  years  on  the  Continent;  when  he 
returned,  his  child's  age  could  be  put  back  a  year.  Oh, 
nothing  could  be  more  clear  and  easy! 

Death  shivered  into  atoms  all  the  plans  of  Mr.  Templeton. 


382  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Mary  suffered  most  severely  in  childbirth,  and  died  a  few- 
weeks  afterwards.  Templeton  at  first  was  inconsolable,  but 
worldly  thoughts  were  great  comforters.  He  had  done  all 
that  conscience  could  do  to  atone  a  sin,  and  he  was  freed  from 
a  most  embarrassing  dilemma,  and  from  a  temporary  banish- 
ment utterly  uncongenial  and  unpalatable  to  his  habits  and 
ideas.  But  now  he  had  a  child,  —  a  legitimate  child,  suc- 
cessor to  his  name,  his  wealth ;  a  first-born  child,  —  the  only 
one  ever  sprung  from  him,  the  prop  and  hope  of  advancing 
years !  On  this  child  he  doted  with  all  that  paternal  passion 
which  the  hardest  and  coldest  men  often  feel  the  most  for 
their  own  flesh  and  blood  —  for  fatherly  love  is  sometimes  but 
a  transfer  of  self-love  from  one  fund  to  another. 

Yet  this  child  —  this  darling  that  he  longed  to  show  to  the 
whole  world  —  it  was  absolutely  necessary,  for  the  present, 
that  he  should  conceal  and  disown.  It  had  happened  that 
Sarah's  husband  died  of  his  own  excesses  a  few  weeks  before 
the  birth  of  Templeton's  child,  she  having  herself  just  recov- 
ered from  her  confinement ;  Sarah  was  therefore  free  forever 
from  her  husband's  vigilance  and  control.  To  her  care  the 
destined  heiress  was  committed,  and  her  own  child  put  out  to 
nurse.  And  this  was  the  woman  and  this  the  child  who  had 
excited  so  much  benevolent  curiosity  in  the  breasts  of  the 

worthy    clergyman    and    the    three    old    maids    of    C .^ 

Alarmed  at  Sarah's  account  of  the  scrutiny  of  the  parson, 
and  at  his  own  rencontre  with  that  hawk-eyed  pastor,  Tem- 
pleton lost  no  time  in  changing  the  abode  of  the  nurse;  and 
to  her  new  residence  had  the  banker  bent  his  way,  with  rod 
and  angle,  on  that  evening  which  witnessed  his  adventure 
with  Luke  Darvil.'^  When  Mr.  Templeton  first  met  Alice^ 
his  own  child  was  only  about  thirteen  or  fourteen  months  old, 
—  but  little  older  than  Alice's.  If  the  beauty  of  Mrs,  Leslie's 
protegee  first  excited  his  coarser  nature,  her  maternal  tender- 
ness, her  anxious  care  for  her  little  one,  struck  a  congenial 
chord  in  the  father's  heart.  It  connected  him  with  her  by  a 
mute  and  unceasing  sympathy.     Templeton  had  felt  so  deeply 

1  See  "Ernest  Maltravers,"  book  iv.,  p.  164. 

2  "Ernest  Maltravers,"  book  iv.,  p.  181. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  383 

the  alarm  and  pain  of  illicit  love,  he  had  been  (as  he  profanely- 
believed)  saved  from  the  brink  of  public  shame  by  so  signal 
an  interference  of  grace,  that  he  resolved  no  more  to  hazard 
his  good  name  and  his  peace  of  mind  upon  such  perilous  rocks. 
The  dearest  desire  at  his  heart  was  to  have  his  daughter  under 
his  roof,  —  to  fondle,  to  play  with  her,  to  watch  her  growth, 
to  win  her  affection.  This,  at  present,  seemed  impossible. 
But  if  he  were  to  marry,  —  marry  a  widow,  to  whom  he  might 
confide  all,  or  a  portion,  of  the  truth ;  if  that  child  could  be 
passed  off  as  hers  —  ah,  that  was  the  best  plan !  And  Temple- 
ton  wanted  a  wife !  Years  were  creeping  on  him,  and  the  day 
would  come  when  a  wife  would  be  useful  as  a  nurse.  But 
Alice  was  supposed  to  be  a  widow;  and  Alice  was  so  meek,  so 
docile,  so  motherly.     If  she  could  be  induced  to  remove  from 

C ,  either  part  with  her  own  child  or  call  it  her  niece,  — 

and  adopt  his.  Such,  from  time  to  time,  were  Templeton's 
thoughts,  as  he  visited  Alice,  and  found,  with  every  visit, 
fresh  evidence  of  her  tender  and  beautiful  disposition ;  such 
the  objects  which,  in  the  First  Part  of  this  work,  we  intimated 
were  different  from  those  of  mere  admiration  for  her  beauty.^ 
But  again,  worldly  doubts  and  fears  —  the  dislike  of  so  unsuit- 
able an  alliance,  the  worse  than  lowness  of  Alice's  origin,  the 
dread  of  discovery  for  her  early  error  —  held  him  back,  waver- 
ing and  irresolute.  To  say  truth,  too,  her  innocence  and 
purity  of  thought  kept  him  at  a  certain  distance.  He  was 
acute  enough  to  see  that  he  —  even  he,  the  great  E-ichard 
Templeton  —  might  be  refused  by  the  faithful  Alice. 

At  last  Darvil  was  dead;  he  breathed  more  freely,  he 
revolved  more  seriously  his  projects;  and  at  this  time,  Sarah,' 
wooed  by  her  first  lover,  wished  to  marry  again;  his  secret 
would  pass  from  her  breast  to  her  second  husband's,  and 
thence  how  far  would  it  travel?    Added  to  this,  Sarah's  con- 

^  "  Our  banker  always  seemed  more  struck  by  Alice's  moral  feelings  than 
even  by  her  physical  beauty.  Her  love  for  her  child,  for  instance,  impressed 
him  powerfully,"  etc.  "  His  feelings  altogether  for  Alice,  the  designs  he  en- 
tertained towards  her,  were  of  a  very  complicated  nature,  and  it  will  be  long, 
perhaps,  before  the  reader  can  thoroughly  comprehend  them."  —  See  "Ernest 
Maltravers,"  book  iv.,  p.  178. 


384  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

science  grew  uneasy;  the  brand  ought  to  be  effaced  from  the 
memory  of  the  dead  mother,  the  legitimacy  of  the  child  pro- 
claimed; she  became  importunate,  she  wearied  and  she 
alarmed  the  pious  man.  He  therefore  resolved  to  rid  him- 
self of  the  only  witness  to  his  marriage  whose  testimony  he 
had  cause  to  fear,  —  of  the  presence  of  the  only  one  acquainted 
with  his  sin  and  the  real  name  of  the  husband  of  Mary  West- 
brook.  He  consented  to  Sarah's  marriage  with  William  Elton, 
and  offered  a  liberal  dowry  on  the  condition  that  she  should 
yield  to  the  wish  of  Elton  himself,  an  adventurous  young 
man,  who  desired  to  try  his  fortunes  in  the  New  World.  His 
daughter  he  must  remove  elsewhere. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Alice's  child,  long  delicate  and 
drooping,  became  seriously  ill.  Symptoms  of  decline  ap- 
peared; the  physician  recommended  a  milder  air,  and  Devon- 
shire was  suggested.  Nothing  could  equal  the  generous,  the 
fatherly  kindness  which  Templeton  evinced  on  this  most  pain- 
ful occasion.  He  insisted  on  providing  Alice  with  the  means 
to  undertake  the  journey  with  ease  and  comfort;  and  poor 
Alice,  with  a  heart  heavy  with  gratitude  and  sorrow,  con- 
sented for  her  child's  sake  to  all  he  offered. 

Now  the  banker  began  to  perceive  that  all  his  hopes  and 
wishes  were  in  good  train.  He  foresaw  that  the  child  of 
Alice  was  doomed! — that  was  one  obstacle  out  of  the  way. 
Alice  herself  was  to  be  removed  from  the  sphere  of  her  hum- 
ble calling.  In  a  distant  county  she  might  appear  of  better 
station,  and  under  another  name.  Conformably  to  these 
views,  he  suggested  to  her  that,  in  proportion  to  the  seem- 
ing wealth  and  respectability  of  patients,  did  doctors  attend 
to  their  complaints.  He  proposed  that  Alice  should  depart 
privately  to  a  town  many  miles  off;  that  there  he  would  pro- 
vide for  her  a  carriage,  and  engage  a  servant ;  that  he  would 
do  this  for  her  as  for  a  relation,  and  that  she  should  take  that 
relation's  name.  To  this,  Alice  rapt  in  her  child,  and  sub- 
missive to  all  that  might  be  for  the  child's  benefit,  passively 
consented.  It  was  arranged  then  as  proposed,  and  under  the 
name  of  Cameron,  which,  as  at  once  a  common  yet  a  well- 
sounding  name,  occurred  to  his   invention,   Alice  departed 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  385 

with  her  sick  charge  and  a  female  attendant  (who  knew 
nothing  of  her  previous  calling  or  story),  on  the  road  to 
Devonshire.  Templeton  himself  resolved  to  follow  her  thither 
in  a  few  daysj  and  it  was  fixed  that  they  should  meet  at 
Exeter. 

It  was  on  this  melancholy  journey  that  occurred  that 
memorable  day  when  Alice  once  more  beheld  Maltravers; 
and,  as  she  believed,  uttering  the  vows  of  love  to  another,  i 
The  indisposition  of  her  child  had  delayed  her  some  hours  at 
the  inn:  the  poor  sufferer  had  fallen  asleep;  and  Alice  had 
stolen  from  its  couch  for  a  little  while,  when  her  eyes  rested 
on  the  father.  Oh,  how  then  she  longed,  she  burned  to  tell 
him  of  the  new  sanctity,  that,  by  a  human  life,  had  been 
added  to  their  early  love!  And  when,  crushed  and  sick  at 
heart,  she  turned  away,  and  believed  herself  forgotten  and 
replaced,  it  was  the  pride  of  the  mother  rather  than  of  the 
mistress  that  supported  her.  She,  meek  creature,  felt  not 
the  injury  to  herself;  but  his  child,  — the  sufferer,  perhaps 
the  dying  one,  —  there,  there  was  the  wrong !  No !  she  would 
not  hazard  the  chance  of  a  cold  —  great  Heaven !  perchance  an 
incredulous  —  look  upon  the  hushed,  pale  face  above.  But 
little  time  was  left  for  thought,  for  explanation,  for  discov- 
ery. She  saw  him  —  unconscious  of  the  ties  so  near,  and  thus 
lost  —  depart  as  a  stranger  from  the  spot ;  and  henceforth  was 
gone  the  sweet  hope  of  living  for  the  future.  Nothing  was 
left  her  but  the  pledge  of  that  which  had  been.  Mournful, 
despondent,  half  broken-hearted,  she  resumed  her  journey. 
At  Exeter  she  was  joined,  as  agreed,  by  Mr.  Templeton ;  and 
with  him  came  a  fair,  a  blooming,  and  healthful  girl  to  con- 
trast her  own  drooping  charge.  Though  but  a  few  weeks 
older,  you  would  have  supposed  the  little  stranger  by  a  year 
the  senior  of  Alice's  child:  the  one  was  so  well  grown,  so 
advanced;  the  other  so  backward,  so  nipped  in  the  sickly  bud. 

"You  can  repay  me  for  all,  for  more  than  T  have  done; 

more  than  I  ever  can  do  for  you  and  yours,"  said  Templeton, 

"  by  taking  this  young  stranger  also  under  your  care.     It  is 

the  child  of  one  dear,  most  dear  to  me;  an  orphan;  I  know 

1  See  "Ernest  Maltravers,"  book  v.,  p.  221. 

25 


886  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

not  with  whom  else  to  place  it.  Let  it  for  the  present  be 
supposed  your  own,  — the  elder  child." 

Alice  could  refuse  nothing  to  her  benefactor;  but  her  heart 
did  not  open  at  first  to  the  beautiful  girl,  whose  sparkling 
eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  mocked  the  languid  looks  and  faded 
hues  of  her  own  darling.  But  the  sufferer  seemed  to  hail  a 
playmate;  it  smiled,  it  put  forth  its  poor,  thin  hands;  it 
uttered  its  inarticulate  cry  of  pleasure,  and  Alice  burst  into 
tears,  and  clasped  them  both  to  her  heart. 

Mr.  Templeton  took  care  not  to  rest  under  the  same  roof 
with  her  he  now  seriously  intended  to  make  his  wife ;  but  he 
followed  Alice  to  the  seaside,  and  visited  her  daily.  Her 
infant  rallied;  it  was  tenacious  of  the  upper  air;  it  clung  to 
life  so  fondly;  poor  child,  it  could  not  foresee  what  a  bitter 
thing  to  some  of  us  life  is !  And  now  it  was  that  Templeton, 
learning  from  Alice  her  adventure  with  her  absent  lover, 
learning  that  all  hope  in  that  quarter  was  gone,  seized  the 
occasion,  and  pressed  his  suit.  Alice  at  the  hour  was  over- 
flowing with  gratitude;  in  her  child's  reviving  looks  she 
read  all  her  obligations  to  her  benefactor.  But  still,  at  the 
word  love,  at  the  name  of  marriage,  her  heart  recoiled;  and 
the  lost,  the  faithless,  came  back  to  his  fatal  throne.  In 
choked  and  broken  accents,  she  startled  the  banker  with  the 
refusal  —  the  faltering,  tearful,  but  resolute  refusal  —  of  his 
suit. 

But  Templeton  brought  new  engines  to  work :  he  wooed  her 
through  her  child;  he  painted  all  the  brilliant  prospects  that 
would  open  to  the  infant  by  her  marriage  with  him.  He 
would  cherish,  rear,  provide  for  it  as  his  own.  This  shook 
her  resolves ;  but  this  did  not  prevail.  He  had  recourse  to  a 
more  generous  appeal:  he  told  her  so  much  of  his  history 
with  Mary  Westbrook  as  commenced  with  his  hasty  and  inde- 
corous marriage,  —  attributing  the  haste  to  love !  made  her 
comprehend  his  scruples  in  owning  the  child  of  a  union  the 
world  would  be  certain  to  ridicule  or  condemn;  he  expatiated 
on  the  inestimable  blessings  she  could  afford  him,  by  deliver- 
ing him  from  all  embarrassment,  and  restoring  his  daughter, 
though  under  a  borrowed  name,  to  her  father's  roof.     At  this 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  887 

Alice  mused;  at  this  she  seemed  irresolute.  She  had  long 
seen  how  inexpressibly  dear  to  Templeton  was  the  child  con- 
fided to  her  care ;  how  he  grew  pale  if  the  slightest  ailment 
reached  her ;  how  he  chafed  at  the  very  wind  if  it  visited  her 
cheek  too  roughly;  and  she  now  said  to  him  simply,  — 

"Is  your  child,  in  truth,  your  dearest  object  in  life?  Is 
it  with  her,  and  her  alone,  that  your  dearest  hopes  are 
connected?  " 

"  It  is,  —  it  is  indeed !  "  said  the  banker,  honestly  surprised 
out  of  his  gallantry;  "at  least,"  he  added,  recovering  his  self- 
possession,  "as  much  so  as  is  compatible  with  my  affection 
for  you." 

"  And  only  if  I  marry  you,  and  adopt  her  as  my  own,  do 
you  think  that  your  secret  may  be  safely  kept,  and  all  your 
wishes  with  respect  to  her  be  fulfilled?" 

"Only  so." 

"  And  for  that  reason,  chiefly,  nay  entirely,  you  condescend 
to  forget  what  I  have  been,  and  seek  my  hand?  Well,  if 
that  were  all,  I  owe  you  too  much ;  my  poor  babe  tells  me  too 
loudly  what  I  owe  you  to  draw  back  from  anything  that  can 
give  you  so  blessed  an  enjoyment.  Ah,  one's  child!  one's 
own  child,  under  one's  own  roof,  it  is  such  a  blessing!  But 
then,  if  I  marry  you,  it  can  be  only  to  secure  to  you  that 
object;  to  be  as  a  mother  to  your  child;  but  wife  only  in 
name  to  you!  I  am  not  so  lost  as  to  despise  myself.  I  know 
now,  though  I  knew  it  not  at  first,  that  I  have  been  guilty; 
nothing  can  excuse  that  guilt  but  fidelity  to  himf  Oh,  yes! 
I  never,  never  can  be  unfaithful  to  my  babe's  father!  As  for 
all  else,  dispose  of  me  as  you  will."  And  Alice,  who  from 
very  innocence  had  uttered  all  this  without  a  blush,  now 
clasped  her  hands  passionately,  and  left  Templeton  speech- 
less with  mortification  and  surprise. 

When  he  recovered  himself,  he  affected  not  to  understand 
her;  but  Alice  was  not  satisfied,  and  all  further  conversation 
ceased.  He  began  slowly,  and  at  last,  and  after  repeated  con- 
ferences and  urgings,  to  comprehend  how  strange  and  stub- 
born in  some  points  was  the  humble  creature  whom  his 
proposals   so  highlj'-  honoured.     Though  his   daughter  was 


388  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

indeed  his  first  object  in  life ;  though  for  her  he  was  willing 
to  make  a  mhalliance,  the  extent  of  which  it  would  be  incum- 
bent on  him  studiously  to  conceal,  —  yet  still,  the  beauty  of 
Alice  awoke  an  earthlier  sentiment  that  he  was  not  disposed 
to  conquer.  He  was  quite  willing  to  make  promises,  and  talk 
generously ;  but  when  it  came  to  an  oath,  —  a  solemn,  a  bind- 
ing oath  —  and  this  Alice  rigidly  exacted,  —  he  was  startled, 
and  drew  back.  Though  hypocritical,  he  was,  as  we  have 
before  said,  a  most  sincere  believer.  He  might  creep  through 
a  promise  with  unbruised  conscience ;  but  he  was  not  one  who 
could  have  dared  to  violate  an  oath,  and  lay  the  load  of  per- 
jury on  his  soul.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  union  never  would 
have  taken  place,  but  Templeton  fell  ill ;  that  soft  and  relax- 
ing air  did  not  agree  with  him;  a  low  but  dangerous  fever 
seized  him,  and  the  worldly  man  trembled  at  the  aspect  of 
Death.  It  was  in  this  illness  that  Alice  nursed  him  with  a 
daughter's  vigilance  and  care;  and  when  at  length  he  recov- 
ered, impressed  with  her  zeal  and  kindness,  softened  by  ill- 
ness, afraid  of  the  approach  of  solitary  age,  —  and  feeling 
more  than  ever  his  duties  to  his  motherless  child,  he  threw 
himself  at  Alice's  feet,  and  solemnly  vowed  all  that  she 
required. 

It  was  during  this  residence  in  Devonshire,  and  especially 
during  his  illness,  that  Templeton  made  and  cultivated  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Aubrey.  The  good  clergyman  prayed  with 
him  by  his  sick-bed;  and  when  Templeton's  danger  was  at 
its  height,  he  sought  to  relieve  his  conscience  by  a  confes- 
sion of  his  wrongs  to  Mary  Westbrook.  The  name  startled 
Aubrey ;  and  when  he  learned  that  the  lovely  child  who  had 
so  often  sat  on  his  knee,  and  smiled  in  his  face,  was  the 
granddaughter  of  his  first  and  only  love,  he  had  a  new  inter- 
est in  her  welfare,  a  new  reason  to  urge  Templeton  to  repara- 
tion, a  new  motive  to  desire  to  procure  for  the  infant  years  of 
Eleanor's  grandchild  the  gentle  care  of  the  young  mother, 
whose  own  bereavement  he  sorrowfully  foretold.  Perhaps 
the  advice  and  exhortations  of  Aubrey  went  far  towards 
assisting  the  conscience  of  Mr.  Templeton,  and  reconciling 
him  to  the  sacrifice  he  made  to  his  affection  for  his  daughter. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  389 

Be  that  as  it  may,  he  married  Alice,  and  Aubrey  solemnized 
and  blessed  the  chill  and  barren  union. 

But  now  came  a  new  and  inexpressible  affliction;  the  child 
of  Alice  had  rallied  but  for  a  time.  The  dread  disease  had 
but  dallied  with  its  prey;  it  came  on  with  rapid  and  sudden 
force ;  and  within  a  month  from  the  day  that  saw  Alice  the 
bride  of  Templeton,  the  last  hope  was  gone,  and  the  mother 
was  bereft  and  childless ! 

The  blow  that  stunned  Alice  was  not,  after  the  first  natural 
shock  of  sympathy,  an  unwelcome  event  to  the  banker.  Now 
his  child  would  be  Alice's  sole  care;  now  there  could  be  no 
gossip,  no  suspicion  why,  in  life  and  after  death,  he  should 
prefer  one  child,  supposed  not  his  own,  to  the  other. 

He  hastened  to  remove  Alice  from  the  scene  of  her  afflic- 
tion. He  dismissed  the  solitary  attendant  who  had  accom- 
panied her  on  her  journey;  he  bore  his  wife  to  London,  and 
finally  settled,  as  we  have  seen,  at  a  villa  in  its  vicinity.  And 
there,  more  and  more,  day  by  day,  centred  his  love  upon  the 
supposed  daughter  of  Mrs.  Templeton,  his  darling  and  his 
heiress,  the  beautiful  Evelyn  Cameron. 

For  the  first  year  or  two,  Templeton  evinced  some  alarming 
disposition  to  escape  from  the  oath  he  had  imposed  upon  him- 
self; but  on  the  slightest  hint  there  was  a  sternness  in  the 
wife,  in  all  else  so  respectful,  so  submissive,  that  repressed 
and  awed  him.  She  even  threatened  —  and  at  one  time  was 
with  difficulty  prevented  carrying  the  threat  into  effect  —  to 
leave  his  roof  forever,  if  there  were  the  slightest  question  of 
the  sanctity  of  his  vow.  Templeton  trembled ;  such  a  separa- 
tion would  excite  gossip,  curiosity,  scandal,  a  noise  in  the 
world,  public  talk,  possible  discovery.  Besides,  Alice  was 
necessary  to  Evelyn,  necessary  to  his  own  comfort;  some- 
thing to  scold  in  health,  something  to  rely  upon  in  illness. 
Gradually  then,  but  sullenly,  he  reconciled  himself  to  his 
lot ;  and  as  years  and  infirmities  grew  upon  him,  he  was  con- 
tented at  least  to  have  secured  a  faithful  friend  and  an  anx- 
ious nurse.  Still  a  marriage  of  this  sort  was  not  blessed: 
Templeton's  vanity  was  wounded;  his  temper,  always  harsh, 
was  soured ;  he  avenged  his  affront  by  a  thousand  petty  tyr- 


390  ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES. 

annies ;  and,  without  a  murmur,  Alice  perhaps  in  those  years 
of  rank  and  opulence  suffered  more  than  in  all  her  wander- 
ings, with  love  at  her  heart  and  her  infant  in  her  arms, 

Evelyn  was  to  be  the  heiress  to  the  wealth  of  the  banker. 
But  the  title  of  the  new  peer !  —  if  he  could  unite  wealth  and 
title,  and  set  the  coronet  on  that  young  brow !  This  had  led 
him  to  seek  the  alliance  with  Lumley.  And  on  his  death- 
bed, it  was  not  the  secret  of  Alice,  but  that  of  Mary  West- 
brook  and  his  daughter,  which  he  had  revealed  to  his  dismayed 
and  astonished  nephew,  in  excuse  for  the  apparently  unjust 
alienation  of  his  property,  and  as  the  cause  of  the  alliance  he 
had  sought. 

While  her  husband,  if  husband  he  might  be  called,  lived, 
Alice  had  seemed  to  bury  in  her  bosom  her  regret  —  deep, 
mighty,  passionate,  as  it  was  —  for  her  lost  child,  the  child 
of  the  unforgotten  lover,  to  whom,  through  such  trials,  and 
amid  such  new  ties,  she  had  been  faithful  from  first  to  last. 
But  when  once  more  free,  her  heart  flew  back  to  the  far  and 
lowly  grave.  Hence  her  yearly  visits  to  Brook-Green;  hence 
her  purchase  of  the  cottage,  hallowed  by  memories  of  the 
dead.  There,  on  that  lawn,  had  she  borne  forth  the  fragile 
form,  to  breathe  the  soft  noontide  air ;  there,  in  that  chamber, 
had  she  watched  and  hoped,  and  prayed  and  despaired;  there, 
in  that  quiet  burial-ground,  rested  the  beloved  dust!  But 
Alice,  even  in  her  holiest  feelings,  was  not  selfish:  she  for- 
bore to  gratify  the  first  wish  of  her  heart  till  Evelyn's  edu- 
cation was  sufficiently  advanced  to  enable  her  to  quit  the 
neighbourhood ;  and  then,  to  the  delight  of  Aubrey  (who  saw 
in  Evelyn  a  fairer,  and  nobler,  and  purer  Eleanor),  she  came 
to  the  solitary  spot,  which,  in  all  the  earth,  was  the  least 
solitary  to  her ! 

And  now  the  image  of  the  lover  of  her  youth  —  which 
during  her  marriage  she  had  sought,  at  least,  to  banish  — 
returned  to  her,  and  at  times  inspired  her  with  the  only  hopes 
that  the  grave  had  not  yet  transferred  to  heaven !  In  relating 
her  tale  to  Aubrey  or  in  conversing  with  Mrs.  Leslie,  whose 
friendship  she  still  maintained,  she  found  that  both  concurred 
in  thinking  that  this  obscure  and  wandering  Butler,  so  skilled 


ALICE;    OR*  THE  MYSTERIES.  891 

in  an  art  in  which  eminence  in  man  is  generally  profes- 
sional, must  be  of  mediocre  or  perhaps  humble  station.  Ah! 
now  that  she  was  free  and  rich,  if  she  were  to  meet  him  again, 
and  his  love  was  not  all  gone,  and  he  would  believe  in  her 
strange  and  constant  truth;  now,  his  infidelity  could  be  for- 
given, —  forgotten  in  the  benefits  it  might  be  hers  to  bestow ! 
And  how,  poor  Alice,  in  that  remote  village,  was  chance  to 
throw  him  in  your  way?  She  knew  not:  but  something  often 
whispered  to  her,  "  Again  you  shall  meet  those  eyes ;  again  you 
shall  hear  that  voice;  and  you  shall  tell  him,  weeping  on  his 
breast,  how  you  loved  his  child ! "  And  would  he  not  have 
forgotten  her;  would  he  not  have  formed  new  ties?  —  could 
he  read  the  loveliness  of  unchangeable  affection  in  that  pale 
and  pensive  face!  Alas,  when  we  love  intensely,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  make  us  fancy  that  there  is  no  love  in  return! 

The  reader  is  acquainted  with  the  adventures  of  Mrs. 
Elton,  the  sole  confidant  of  the  secret  union  of  Templeton 
and  Evelyn's  mother.  By  a  singular  fatality,  it  was  the  self- 
ish and  characteristic  recklessness  of  Vargrave  that  had,  in 
fixing  her  home  at  Burleigh,  ministered  to  the  revelation  of 
his  own  villanous  deceit.  On  returning  to  England  she  had 
inquired  for  Mr.  Templeton;  she  had  learned  that  he  had 
married  again,  had  been  raised  to  the  peerage  under  the  title 
of  Lord  Vargrave,  and  was  gathered  to  his  fathers.  She  had 
no  claim  on  his  widow  or  his  family.  But  the  unfortunate 
child  who  should  have  inherited  his  property,  she  could  only 
suppose  her  dead. 

When  she  first  saw  Evelyn,  she  was  startled  by  her  like- 
ness to  her  unfortunate  mother.  But  the  unfamiliar  name 
of  Cameron,  the  intelligence  received  from  Maltravers  that 
Evelyn's  mother  still  lived,  dispelled  her  suspicions;  and 
though  at  times  the  resemblance  haunted  her,  she  doubted 
and  inquired  no  more.  In  fact,  her  own  infirmities  grew 
upon  her,  and  pain  usurped  her  thoughts. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  news  of  the  engagement  of 
Maltravers  to  Miss  Cameron  became  known  to  the  county  but 
a  little  time  before  he  arrived,  —  for  news  travels  slow  from 
the  Continent  to  our  provinces,  —  and,  of  course,  excited  all 


892  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

the  comment  of  the  villagers.  Her  nurse  repeated  the  tale 
to  Mrs.  Elton,  who  instantly  remembered  the  name,  and 
recalled  the  resemblance  of  Miss  Cameron  to  the  unfortu- 
nate Mary  Westbrook. 

"And,"  said  the  gossiping  nurse,  "she  was  engaged,  they 
say,  to  a  great  lord,  and  gave  him  up  for  the  squire,  —  a  great 
lord  in  the  court,  who  had  been  staying  at  Parson  Merton's, 
Lord  Vargrave ! " 

"Lord  Vargrave!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Elton,  remembering 
the  title  to  which  Mr.  Templeton  had  been  raised. 

"  Yes ;  they  do  say  as  how  the  late  lord  left  Miss  Cameron 
all  his  money  —  such  a  heap  of  it  —  though  she  was  not  his 
child,  over  the  head  of  his  nevy,  the  present  lord,  on  the 
understanding  like  that  they  were  to  be  married  when  she 
came  of  age.  But  she  would  not  take  to  him  after  she  had 
seen  the  squire.  And,  to  be  sure,  the  squire  is  the  finest- 
looking  gentleman  in  the  county." 

"Stop!  stop!"  said  Mrs.  Elton,  feebly;  "the  late  lord  left 
all  his  fortune  to  Miss  Cameron,  —  not  his  child !  I  guess  the 
riddle!  I  understand  it  all!  my  foster-child!"  she  mur- 
mured, turning  away;  "how  could  I  have  mistaken  that 
likeness?" 

The  agitation  of  the  discovery  she  supposed  she  had  made, 
her  joy  at  the  thought  that  the  child  she  had  loved  as  her  own 
was  alive  and  possessed  of  its  rights,  expedited  the  progress 
of  Mrs.  Elton's  disease;  and  Maltravers  arrived  just  in  time 
to  learn  her  confession  (which  she  naturally  wished  to  make 
to  one  who  was  at  once  her  benefactor,  and  supposed  to  be  the 
destined  husband  of  her  foster-child),  and  to  be  agitated  with 
hope,  with  joy,  at  her  solemn  conviction  of  the  truth  of  her 
surmises.  If  Evelyn  were  not  his  daughter  —  even  if  not  to 
be  his  bride  —  what  a  weight  from  his  soul !  He  hastened  to 
Brook-Green;  and  dreading  to  rush  at  once  to  the  presence 
of  Alice,  he  recalled  Aubrey  to  his  recollection.  In  the  inter- 
view he  sought,  all,  or  at  least  much,  was  cleared  up.  He 
saw  at  once  the  premeditated  and  well-planned  villany  of 
Vargrave.  And  Alice,  her  tale  —  her  sufferings  —  her  indomi- 
table love !  —  how  should  he  meet  her  ? 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  398 


CHAPTER  V. 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels !  and  once  more, 
Ye  myrtles  !  —  Lycidas. 

While  Maltravers  was  yet  agitated  and  excited  by  the 
disclosures  of  the  curate,  to  whom,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he 
had  divulged  his  own  identity  with  the  mysterious  Butler, 
Aubrey,  turning  his  eyes  to  the  casement,  saw  the  form  of 
Lady  Vargrave  slowly  approaching  towards  the  house. 

"Will  you  withdraw  to  the  inner  room?"  said  he;  "she  is 
coming;  you  are  not  yet  prepared  to  meet  her! — nay,  would 
it  be  well?" 

"Yes,  yes;  I  am  prepared.  We  must  be  alone.  I  will 
await  her  here." 

"But  —  " 

"  Nay,  I  implore  you ! " 

The  curate,  without  another  word,  retired  into  the  inner 
apartment,  and  Maltravers  sinking  in  a  chair  breathlessly 
awaited  the  entrance  of  Lady  Vargrave.  He  soon  heard  the 
light  step  without;  the  door,  which  opened  at  once  on  the 
old-fashioned  parlour,  was  gently  unclosed,  and  Lady  Var- 
grave was  in  the  room !  In  the  position  he  had  taken,  only 
the  outline  of  Ernest's  form  was  seen  by  Alice,  and  the  day- 
light came  dim  through  the  cottage  casement;  and  seeing 
some  one  seated  in  the  curate's  accustomed  chair,  she  could 
but  believe  that  it  was  Aubrey  himself. 

"Do  not  let  me  interrupt  you,"  said  that  sweet,  low  voice, 
whose  music  had  been  dumb  for  so  many  years  to  Maltravers, 
"  but  I  have  a  letter  from  France,  from  a  stranger.  It  alarms 
me  so ;  it  is  about  Evelyn ;  "  and,  as  if  to  imply  that  she  med- 
itated a  longer  visit  than  ordinary.  Lady  Vargrave  removed 
her  bonnet,  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  Surprised  that  the 
curate  had  not  answered,  had  not  come  forward  to  welcome 
her,  she  then  approached;   Maltravers  rose,  and  they  stood 


894  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

before  each  other  face  to  face.  And  how  lovely  still  was 
Alice !  lovelier  he  thought  even  than  of  old !  And  those  eyes, 
so  divinely  blue,  so  dovelike  and  soft,  yet  with  some  spiritual 
and  unfathomable  mystery  in  their  clear  depth,  were  once 
more  fixed  upon  him.  Alice  seemed  turned  to  stone;  she 
moved  not,  she  spoke  not,  she  scarcely  breathed;  she  gazed 
spellbound,  as  if  her  senses  —  as  if  life  itself  —  had  deserted 
her. 

"  Alice !  "  murmured  Maltravers,  —  "  Alice,  we  meet  at 
last!" 

His  voice  restored  memory,  consciousness,  youth,  at  once 
to  her!  She  uttered  a  loud  cry  of  unspeakable  joy,  of  rap- 
ture! She  sprang  forward  —  reserve,  fear,  time,  change,  all 
forgotten;  she  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  she  clasped  him 
to  her  heart  again  and  again !  —  the  faithful  dog  that  has 
found  its  master  expresses  not  his  transport  more  uncontrolla- 
bly, more  wildly.  It  was  something  fearful  —  the  excess  of 
her  ecstasy!  She  kissed  his  hands,  his  clothes;  she  laughed, 
she  wept;  and  at  last,  as  words  came,  she  laid  her  head  on 
his  breast,  and  said  passionately,  "  I  have  been  true  to  thee ! 
I  have  been  true  to  thee!  —  or  this  hour  would  have  killed 
me !  "  Then,  as  if  alarmed  by  his  silence,  she  looked  up  into 
his  face,  and  as  his  burning  tears  fell  upon  her  cheek,  she 
said  again  and  with  more  hurried  vehemence,  "  I  have  been 
faithful,  — do  you  not  believe  me?  " 

"  I  do,  I  do,  noble,  unequalled  Alice !  Why,  why  were  you 
so  long  lost  to  me?  Why  now  does  your  love  so  shame  my 
own?" 

At  these  words,  Alice  appeared  to  awaken  from  her  first 
oblivion  of  all  that  had  chanced  since  they  met ;  she  blushed 
deeply,  and  drew  herself  gently  and  bashfully  from  his  em- 
brace. "Ah,"  she  said,  in  altered  and  humbled  accents,  "you 
have  loved  another !  Perhaps  you  have  no  love  left  for  me ! 
Is  it  so;  is  it?  No,  no;  those  eyes  —  you  love  me  —  you  love 
me  still!" 

And  again  she  clung  to  him,  as  if  it  were  heaven  to  believe 
all  things,  and  death  to  doubt.  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  drew 
him  gently  with  both  her  hands  towards  the  light,  and  gazed 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  395 

upon  him  fondly,  proudly,  as  if  to  trace,  line  by  line,  and 
feature  by  feature,  the  countenance  which  had  been  to  her 
sweet  thoughts  as  the  sunlight  to  the  flowers.  "Changed, 
changed,"  she  muttered;  "but  still  the  same,  — still  beautiful, 
still  divine !  "  She  stopped.  A  sudden  thought  struck  her : 
his  garments  were  worn  and  soiled  by  travel,  and  that  princely 
crest,  fallen  and  dejected,  no  longer  towered  in  proud  defiance 
above  the  sons  of  men.  "You  are  not  rich,"  she  exclaimed 
eagerly,  —  "  say  you  are  not  rich!  I  am  rich  enough  for  both; 
it  is  all  yours,  —  all  yours ;  I  did  not  betray  you  for  it ;  there 
is  no  shame  in  it.  Oh,  we  shall  be  so  happy!  Thou  art  come 
back  to  thy  poor  Alice !  thou  knowest  how  she  loved  thee !  " 

There  was  in  Alice's  manner,  her  wild  joy,  something  so 
different  from  her  ordinary  self,  that  none  who  could  have 
seen  her  —  quiet,  pensive,  subdued  —  would  have  fancied  her 
the  same  being.  All  that  Society  and  its  woes  had  taught 
were  gone;  and  Nature  once  more  claimed  her  fairest  child. 
The  very  years  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  her  brow,  and  she 
looked  scarcely  older  than  when  she  had  stood  with  him  be- 
neath the  moonlight  by  the  violet  banks  far  away.  Suddenly, 
her  colour  faded ;  the  smile  passed  from  the  dimpled  lips ;  a 
sad  and  solemn  aspect  succeeded  to  that  expression  of  passion- 
ate joy.  "Come,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "come,  follow;" 
and  still  clasping  his  hand,  she  drew  him  to  the  door. 
Silent  and  wonderingly  he  followed  her  across  the  lawn, 
through  the  moss-grown  gate,  and  into  the  lonely  burial- 
ground.  She  moved  on  with  a  noiseless  and  gliding  step,  — 
so  pale,  so  hushed,  so  breathless,  that  even  in  the  noonday 
you  might  have  half  fancied  the  fair  shape  was  not  owned  by 
earth.  She  paused  where  the  yew-tree  cast  its  gloomy  shadow; 
and  the  small  and  tombless  mound,  separated  from  the  rest, 
was  before  them.  She  pointed  to  it,  and  falling  on  her  knees 
beside  it,  murmured,  "  Hush,  it  sleeps  below,  —  thy  child ! " 
She  covered  her  face  with  both  her  hands,  and  her  form  shook 
convulsively. 

Beside  that  form  and  before  that  grave  knelt  Maltravers. 
There  vanished  the  last  remnant  of  his  stoic  pride ;  and  there 
—  Evelyn  herself  forgotten  —  there  did  he  pray  to  Heaven  for 


396  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

pardon  to  himself,  and  blessings  on  the  heart  he  had  betrayed. 
There  solemnly  did  he  vow,  the  remainder  of  his  years,  to 
guard  from  all  future  ill  the  faithful  and  childless  mother. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Will  Fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full, 
But  write  her  fair  words  still  in  foulest  letters  ? 

Henry  IV.  Part  ii. 

I  PASS  over  those  explanations,  that  record  of  Alice's 
eventful  history,  which  Maltravers  learned  from  her  own 
lips,  to  confirm  and  add  to  the  narrative  of  the  curate,  the 
purport  of  which  is  already  known  to  the  reader. 

It  was  many  hours  before  Alice  was  sufficiently  composed 
to  remember  the  object  for  which  she  had  sought  the  curate. 
But  she  had  laid  the  letter  which  she  had  brought,  and  which 
explained  all,  on  the  table  at  the  vicarage;  and  when  Mal- 
travers, having  at  last  induced  Alice,  who  seemed  afraid  to 
lose  sight  of  him  for  an  instant,  to  retire  to  her  room,  and 
seek  some  short  repose,  returned  towards  the  vicarage,  he  met 
Aubrey  in  the  garden.  The  old  man  had  taken  the  friend's 
acknowledged  license  to  read  the  letter  evidently  meant  for 
his  eye;  and,  alarmed  and  anxious,  he  now  eagerly  sought  a 
consultation  with  Maltravers.  The  letter,  written  in  English, 
as  familiar  to  the  writer  as  her  own  tongue,  was  from  Madame 
de  Ventadour.  It  had  been  evidently  dictated  by  the  kindest 
feelings.  After  apologizing  briefly  for  her  interference,  she 
stated  that  Lord  Vargrave's  marriage  with  Miss  Cameron  was 
now  a  matter  of  public  notoriety ;  that  it  would  take  place  in 
a  few  days;  that  it  was  observed  with  suspicion  that  Miss 
Cameron  appeared  nowhere;  that  she  seemed  almost  a  pris- 
oner in  her  room ;  that  certain  expressions  which  had  dropped 
from  Lady  Doltimore  had  alarmed  her  greatly.     According  to 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  397 

these  expressions,  it  would  seem  that  Lady  Vargrave  was  not 
apprised  of  the  approaching  event;  that,  considering  Miss 
Cameron's  recent  engagement  to  Mr.  Maltravers  suddenly 
(and,  as  Valerie  thought,  unaccountably)  broken  off  on  the 
arrival  of  Lord  Vargrave;  considering  her  extreme  youth,  her 
brilliant  fortune;  and,  Madame  de  Ventadour  delicately 
hinted,  considering  also  Lord  Vargrave's  character  for  un- 
scrupulous determination  in  the  furtherance  of  any  object  on 
which  he  was  bent,  — considering  all  this,  Madame  de  Venta- 
dour had  ventured  to  address  Miss  Cameron's  mother,  and  to 
guard  her  against  the  possibility  of  design  or  deceit.  Her 
best  apology  for  her  intrusion  must  be  her  deep  interest  in 
Miss  Cameron,  and  her  long  friendship  for  one  to  whom  Miss 
Cameron  had  been  so  lately  betrothed.  If  Lady  Vargrave 
were  aware  of  the  new  engagement,  and  had  sanctioned  it,  of 
course  her  intrusion  was  unseasonable  and  superfluous ;  but  if 
ascribed  to  its  real  motive,  would  not  be  the  less  forgiven. 

It  was  easy  for  Maltravers  to  see  in  this  letter,  how  generous 
and  zealous  had  been  that  friendship  for  himself  which  could 
have  induced  the  woman  of  the  world  to  undertake  so  officious 
a  task.  But  of  this  he  thought  not,  as  he  hurried  over  the 
lines,  and  shuddered  at  Evelyn's  urgent  danger. 

"This  intelligence,"  said  Aubrey,  "must  be,  indeed,  a  sur- 
prise to  Lady  Vargrave.  For  we  have  not  heard  a  word  from 
P^velyn  or  Lord  Vargrave  to  announce  such  a  marriage ;  and 
she  (and  myself  till  this  day)  believed  that  the  engagement 

between  Evelyn  and  Mr.  ,  I  mean,"  said  Aubrey  with 

confusion,  —  "I  mean  yourself,  was  still  in  force.  Lord  Var- 
grave's villany  is  apparent;  we  must  act  immediately.  What 
is  to  be  done?" 

"I  will  return  to  Paris  to-morrow;  I  will  defeat  his  machi- 
nation, expose  his  falsehood !  " 

"  You  may  need  a  proxy  for  Lady  Vargrave,  an  authority 
for  Evelyn ;  one  whom  Lord  Vargrave  knows  to  possess  the 
secret  of  her  birth,  her  rights:  I  will  go  with  you.  We 
must  speak  to  Lady  Vargrave." 

Maltravers  turned  sharply  round.  "And  Alice  knows  not 
who  I  am ;  that  I  —  I  am,  or  was,  a  few  weeks  ago,  the  suitor 


398  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

of  another;  and  that  other  the  child  she  has  reared  as  her 
own!  Unhappy  Alice!  in  the  very  hour  of  her  joy  at  my 
return,  is  she  to  writhe  beneath  this  new  affliction?" 

"Shall  I  break  it  to  her?"  said  Aubrey,  pityingly. 

"No,  no;  these  lips  must  inflict  the  last  wrong! " 

Maltravers  walked  away,  and  the  curate  saw  him  no  more 
till  night. 

In  the  interval,  and  late  in  the  evening,  Maltravers  re- 
joined Alice. 

The  fire  burned  clear  on  the  hearth,  the  curtains  were 
drawn,  the  pleasant  but  simple  drawing-room  of  the  cottage 
smiled  its  welcome  as  Maltravers  entered,  and  Alice  sprang 
up  to  greet  him!  It  was  as  if  the  old  days  of  the  music- 
lesson  and  the  meerschaum  had  come  back. 

"This  is  yours,"  said  Alice,  tenderly,  as  he  looked  round 
the  apartment.  "IN'ow  —  now  I  know  what  a  blessed  thing 
riches  are !  Ah,  you  are  looking  on  that  picture ;  it  is  of  her 
who  supplied  your  daughter's  place,  —  she  is  so  beautiful,  so 
good,  you  will  love  her  as  a  daughter.  Oh,  that  letter  —  that 
—  that  letter  —  I  forgot  it  till  now  —  it  is  at  the  vicarage  —  I 
must  go  there  immediately,  and  you  will  come  too,  —  you  will 
advise  us." 

"Alice,  I  have  read  the  letter, — I  know  all.  Alice,  sit 
down  and  hear  me,  —  it  is  you  who  have  to  learn  from  me. 
In  our  young  days  I  was  accustomed  to  tell  you  stories  in 
winter  nights  like  these,  —  stories  of  love  like  our  own,  of 
sorrows  which,  at  that  time,  we  only  knew  by  hearsay.  I 
have  one  now  for  your  ear,  truer  and  sadder  than  they  were. 
Two  children,  for  they  were  then  little  more  —  children  in 
ignorance  of  the  world,  children  in  freshness  of  heart,  chil- 
dren almost  in  years  —  were  thrown  together  by  strange  vicis- 
situdes, more  than  eighteen  years  ago.  They  were  of  different 
sexes,  —  they  loved  and  they  erred.  But  the  error  was  solely 
with  the  boy;  for  what  was  innocence  in  her  was  but  passion 
in  him.  He  loved  her  dearly;  but  at  that  age  her  qualities 
were  half  developed.  He  knew  her  beautiful,  simple,  tender; 
but  he  knew  not  all  the  virtue,  the  faith,  and  the  nobleness 
that  Heaven  had  planted  in  her  soul.     They  parted,  —  they 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

knew  not  each  other's  fate.  He  sought  her  anxiously,  but  in 
vain;  and  sorrow  and  remorse  long  consumed  him,  and  her 
memory  threw  a  shadow  over  his  existence.  But  again  —  for 
his  love  had  not  the  exalted  holiness  of  hers  (she  was  true !) 
—  he  sought  to  renew  in  others  the  charm  he  had  lost  with 
her.  In  vain, — long,  long  in  vain.  Alice,  you  know  to 
whom  the  tale  refers.  Nay,  listen  yet.  I  have  heard  from 
the  old  man  yonder  that  you  were  witness  to  a  scene  many 
years  ago  which  deceived  you  into  the  belief  that  you  beheld  a 
rival.  It  was  not  so:  that  lady  yet  lives, — then,  as  now,  a 
friend  to  me;  nothing  more.  I  grant  that,  at  one  time,  my 
fancy  allured  me  to  her,  but  my  heart  was  still  true  to  thee." 

"  Bless  you  for  those  words ! "  murmured  Alice ;   and  she 
crept  more  closely  to  him. 

He  went  on.  "  Circumstances,  which  at  some  calmer  occa- 
sion you  shall  hear,  again  nearly  connected  my  fate  by  mar- 
riage to  another.  I  had  then  seen  you  at  a  distance,  unseen 
by  you,  —  seen  you  apparently  surrounded  by  respectability 
and  opulence ;  and  I  blessed  Heaven  that  your  lot,  at  least, 
was  not  that  of  penury  and  want."  (Here  Maltravers  related 
where  he  had  caught  that  brief  glimpse  of  Alice,*  —  how  he 
had  sought  for  her  again  and  again  in  vain.)  ''From  that 
hour,"  he  continued,  "seeing  you  in  circumstances  of  which  I 
could  not  have  dared  to  dream,  I  felt  more  reconciled  to  the 
past;  yet,  when  on  the  verge  of  marriage  with  another  — 
beautiful,  gifted,  generous  as  she  was  —  a  thought,  a  memory 
half  acknowledged,  dimly  traced,  chained  back  my  senti- 
ments ;  and  admiration,  esteem,  and  gratitude  were  not  love ! 
Death  —  a  death  melancholy  and  tragic  —  forbade  this  union ; . 
and  I  went  forth  in  the  world,  a  pilgrim  and  a  wanderer. 
Years  rolled  away,  and  I  thought  I  had  conquered  the  desire 
for  love, — a  desire  that  had  haunted  me  since  I  lost  thee. 
But,  suddenly  and  recently,  a  being,  beautiful  as  yourself  — 
sweet,  guileless,  and  young  as  you  were  when  we  met  —  woke 
in  me  a  new  and  a  strange  sentiment.  I  will  not  conceal  it 
from  you :  Alice,  at  last  I  loved  another !  Yet,  singular  as  it 
may  seem  to  you,  it  was  a  certain  resemblance  to  yourself,  not 
1  See  "  Ernest  Maltravers,"  book  v.,  p.  228. 


400  ALICE  ;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

in  feature,  but  in  the  tones  of  the  voice,  the  nameless  grace  of 
gesture  and  manner,  the  very  music  of  your  once  happy  laugh, 
—  those  traits  of  resemblance  which  I  can  now  account  for, 
and  which  children  catch  not  from  their  parents  only,  but 
from  those  they  most  see,  and,  loving  most,  most  imitate  in 
their  tender  years,  —  all  these,  I  say,  made  perhaps  a  chief 
attraction,  that  drew  me  towards  —  Alice,  are  you  prepared 
for  it?  —  drew  me  towards  Evelyn  Cameron.  Know  me  in  my 
real  character,  by  my  true  name:  I  am  that  Maltravers  to 
whom  the  hand  of  Evelyn  was  a  few  weeks  ago  betrothed !  " 

He  paused,  and  ventured  to  look  up  at  Alice;  she  was 
exceedingly  pale,  and  her  hands  were  tightly  clasped  to- 
gether, but  she  neither  wept  nor  spoke.  The  worst  was  over; 
he  continued  more  rapidly,  and  with  less  constrained  an 
effort:  "By  the  art,  the  duplicity,  the  falsehood  of  Lord 
Vargrave,  I  was  taught  in  a  sudden  hour  to  believe  that 
Evelyn  was  our  daughter,  that  you  recoiled  from  the  prospect 
of  beholding  once  more  the  author  of  so  many  miseries.  I 
need  not  tell  you,  Alice,  of  the  horror  that  succeeded  to  love. 
I  pass  over  the  tortures  I  endured.  By  a  train  of  incidents 
to  be  related  to  you  hereafter,  I  was  led  to  suspect  the  truth  of 
Vargrave's  tale.  I  came  hither;  I  have  learned  all  from 
Aubrey.  I  regret  no  more  the  falsehood  that  so  racked  me  for 
the  time;  I  regret  no  more  the  rupture  of  my  bond  with 
Evelyn;  I  regret  nothing  that  brings  me  at  last  free  and 
unshackled  to  thy  feet,  and  acquaints  me  with  thy  sublime 
faith  and  ineffable  love.  Here  then  —  here  beneath  your  own 
roof  —  here  he,  at  once  your  earliest  friend  and  foe,  kneels  to 
you  for  pardon  and  for  hope !  He  woos  you  as  his  wife,  his 
companion  to  the  grave!  Forget  all  his  errors,  and  be  to  him, 
under  a  holier  name,  all  that  you  were  to  him  of  old !  " 

"And  you  are  then  Evelyn's  suitor,  — you  are  he  whom  she 
loves?  I  see  it  all  —  all!"  Alice  rose,  and,  before  he  was 
even  aware  of  her  purpose,  or  conscious  of  what  she  felt,  she 
had  vanished  from  the  room. 

Long,  and  with  the  bitterest  feelings,  he  awaited  her 
return;  she  came  not.  At  last  he  wrote  a  hurried  note, 
imploring  her  to  join  him  again,  to  relieve  his  suspense;  to 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  401 

believe  his  sincerity;  to  accept  his  vows.  He  sent  it  to  her 
own  room,  to  which  she  had  hastened  to  bury  her  emotions. 
In  a  few  minutes  there  came  to  him  this  answer,  written  in 
pencil,  blotted  with  tears. 

"  I  thank  you,  I  understand  your  heart ;  but  forgive  me  —  I  cannot 
see  you  yet.  She  is  so  beautiful  and  good,  she  is  worthy  of  you.  I  shall 
soon  be  reconciled.     God  bless  you,  —  bless  you  both  ! " 

The  door  of  the  vicarage  was  opened  abruptly,  and  Mal- 
travers  entered  with  a  hasty  but  heavy  tread. 

"  Go  to  her,  go  to  that  angel ;  go,  I  beseech  you !  Tell  her 
that  she  wrongs  me,  if  she  thinks  I  can  ever  wed  another, 
ever  have  an  object  in  life,  but  to  atone  to,  to  merit  her.  Go, 
plead  for  me." 

Aubrey,  who  soon  gathered  from  Maltravers  what  had 
passed,  departed  to  the  cottage.  It  was  near  midnight  before 
he  returned.  Maltravers  met  him  in  the  churchyard,  beside 
the  yew-tree.     "Well,  well,  what  message  do  you  bring?" 

"  She  wishes  that  we  should  both  set  off  for  Paris  to-morrow. 
Not  a  day  is  to  be  lost,  —  we  must  save  Evelyn  from  this 
snare." 

"  Evelyn !  Yes,  Evelyn  shall  be  saved ;  but  the  rest  —  the 
rest  —  why  do  you  turn  away?" 

"'  You  are  not  the  poor  artist,  the  wandering  adventurer; 
you  are  the  high-born,  the  wealthy,  the  renowned  Maltravers : 
Alice  has  nothing  to  confer  on  you.  You  have  won  the  love 
of  Evelyn,  —  Alice  cannot  doom  the  child  confided  to  her  care 
to  hopeless  affection ;  you  love  Evelyn,  —  Alice  cannot  com- 
pare herself  to  the  young  and  educated  and  beautiful  creature, 
whose  love  is  a  priceless  treasure.  Alice  prays  you  not  to 
grieve  for  her;  she  will  soon  be  content  and  happy  in  your 
happiness.'     This  is  the  message." 

"  And  what  said  you,  —  did  you  not  tell  her  such  words 
would  break  my  heart?  " 

"No  matter  what  I  said;  I  mistrust  myself  when  I  advise 
her.     Her  feelings  are  truer  than  all  our  wisdom !  " 

Maltravers  made  no  answer,  and  the  curate  saw  him  gliding 
rapidly  away  by  the  starlit  graves  towards  the  village. 

26 


402  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 

From  flowery  tenderness  ?  —  Measure  for  Measure. 

They  were  on  the  road  to  Dover.  Maltravers  leaned  back 
in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  with  his  hat  over  his  brows, 
though  the  morning  was  yet  too  dark  for  the  curate  to  per- 
ceive more  than  the  outline  of  his  features.  Milestone  after 
milestone  glided  by  the  wheels,  and  neither  of  the  travellers 
broke  the  silence.  It  was  a  cold,  raw  morning,  and  the  mists 
rose  sullenly  from  the  dank  hedges  and  comfortless  fields. 

Stern  and  self-accusing  was  the  scrutiny  of  Maltravers  into 
the  recesses  of  his  conscience,  and  the  blotted  pages  of  the 
Past.  That  pale  and  solitary  mother,  mourning  over  the 
grave  of  her  —  of  his  own  —  child,  rose  again  before  his  eyes, 
and  seemed  silently  to  ask  him  for  an  account  of  the  heart  he 
had  made  barren,  and  of  the  youth  to  which  his  love  had 
brought  the  joylessness  of  age.  With  the  image  of  Alice,  — 
afar,  alone,  whether  in  her  wanderings,  a  beggar  and  an  out- 
east,  or  in  that  hollow  prosperity,  in  which  the  very  ease  of 
the  frame  allowed  more  leisure  to  the  pinings  of  the  heart,  — 
with  that  image,  pure,  sorrowing,  and  faithful  from  first  to 
last,  he  compared  his  own  wild  and  wasted  youth,  his  resort 
to  fancy  and  to  passion  for  excitement.  He  contrasted  with 
her  patient  resignation  his  own  arrogant  rebellion  against  the 
trials,  the  bitterness  of  which  his  proud  spirit  had  exagger- 
ated; his  contempt  for  the  pursuits  and  aims  of  others;  the 
imperious  indolence  of  his  later  life,  and  his  forgetfulness  of 
the  duties  which  Providence  had  fitted  him  to  discharge.  His 
mind,  once  so  rudely  hurled  from  that  complacent  pedestal, 
from  which  it  had  so  long  looked  down  on  men,  and  said,  **  I 
am  wiser  and  better  than  you,"  became  even  too  acutely  sensi- 
tive to  its  own  infirmities ;  and  that  desire  for  Virtue,  which 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  403 

he  had  ever  deeply  entertained,  made  itself  more  distinctly 
and  loudly  heard  amidst  the  ruins  and  the  silence  of  his 
pride. 

From  the  contemplation  of  the  Past,  he  roused  himself  to 
face  the  Future.  Alice  had  refused  his  hand,  Alice  herself 
had  ratified  and  blessed  his  union  with  another !  Evelyn,  so 
madly  loved,  —  Evelyn  might  still  be  his !  No  law  —  from 
the  violation  of  which,  even  in  thought,  Human  Nature  recoils 
appalled  and  horror-stricken  —  forbade  him  to  reclaim  her 
hand,  to  snatch  her  from  the  grasp  of  Vargrave,  to  woo  again, 
and  again  to  win  her!  But  did  Maltravers  welcome,  did  he 
embrace  that  thought?  Let  us  do  him  justice:  he  did  not. 
He  felt  that  Alice's  resolution,  in  the  first  hour  of  mortified 
affection,  was  not  to  be  considered  final ;  and  even  if  it  were 
so,  he  felt  yet  more  deeply  that  her  love  —  the  love  that  had 
withstood  so  many  trials  —  never  could  be  subdued.  Was  he 
to  make  her  nobleness  a  curse?  Was  he  to  say,  "Thou  hast 
passed  away  in  thy  generation,  and  I  leave  thee  again  to  thy 
solitude  for  her  whom  thou  hast  cherished  as  a  child?"  He 
started  in  dismay  from  the  thought  of  this  new  and  last  blow 
upon  the  shattered  spirit ;  and  then  fresh  and  equally  sacred 
obstacles  between  Evelyn  and  himself  broke  slowly  on  his 
view.  Could  Templeton  rise  from  his  grave,  with  what 
resentment,  with  what  just  repugnance,  would  he  have  re- 
garded in  the  betrayer  of  his  wife  (even  though  wife  but  in 
name)  the  suitor  to  his  child ! 

These  thoughts  came  in  fast  and  fearful  force  upon  Mal- 
travers, and  served  to  strengthen  his  honour  and  his  con- 
science. He  felt  that  though,  in  law,  there  was  no  shadow 
of  connection  between  Evelyn  and  himself,  yet  his  tie  with 
Alice  had  been  of  a  nature  that  ought  to  separate  him  from 
one  who  had  regarded  Alice  as  a  mother.  The  load  of  horror, 
the  agony  of  shame,  were  indeed  gone ;  but  still  a  voice  whis- 
pered as  before,  "  Evelyn  is  lost  to  thee  forever ! "  But  so 
shaken  had  already  been  her  image  in  the  late  storms  and 
convulsion  of  his  soul,  that  this  thought  was  preferable  to 
the  thought  of  sacrificing  Alice.  If  that  were  all  —  but  Eve- 
lyn might  still  love  him;  and  justice  to  Alice  might  be  mis- 


404  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

ery  to  her!  He  started  from  his  revery  with  a  vehement 
gesture,  and  groaned  audibly. 

The  curate  turned  to  address  to  him  some  words  of  inquiry 
and  surprise;  but  the  words  were  unheard,  and  he  perceived, 
by  the  advancing  daylight,  that  the  countenance  of  Maltravers 
was  that  of  a  man  utterly  rapt  and  absorbed  by  some  master- 
ing and  irresistible  thought.  Wisely,  therefore,  he  left  his 
companion  in  peace,  and  returned  to  his  own  anxious  and 
engrossing  meditations. 

The  travellers  did  not  rest  till  they  arrived  at  Dover.  The 
vessel  started  early  the  following  morning,  and  Aubrey,  who 
was  much  fatigued,  retired  to  rest.  Maltravers  glanced  at  the 
clock  upon  the  mantelpiece ;  it  was  the  hour  of  nine.  For  him 
there  was  no  hope  of  sleep ;  and  the  prospect  of  the  slow  night 
was  that  of  dreary  suspense  and  torturing  self-commune. 

As  he  turned  restlessly  in  his  seat,  the  waiter  entered  to 
say  that  there  was  a  gentleman  who  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
him  below  on  his  arrival,  and  who  was  anxious  to  speak  with 
him.  Before  Maltravers  could  answer,  the  gentleman  himself 
entered,  and  Maltravers  recognized  Legard. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  latter,  in  a  tone  of  great 
agitation,  "but  I  was  most  anxious  to  see  you  for  a  few 
moments.  I  have  just  returned  to  England  —  all  places  alike 
hateful  to  me !  I  read  in  the  papers  —  an  —  an  announcement 
—  which  —  which  occasions  me  the  greatest  —  I  know  not 
what  I  would  say,  — but  is  it  true?  Read  this  paragraph;" 
and  Legard  placed  "The  Courier"  before  Maltravers. 

The  passage  was  as  follows :  — 

"  It  is  whispered  that  Lord  Vargrave,  who  is  now  at  Paris,  is  to  be 
married  in  a  few  days  to  the  beautiful  and  wealthy  Miss  Cameron,  to 
whom  he  has  been  long  engaged." 

"Is  it  possible?"  exclaimed  Legard,  following  the  eyes  of 
Maltravers,  as  he  glanced  over  the  paragraph.  "Were  not 
you  the  lover,  —  the  accepted,  the  happy  lover  of  Miss  Came- 
ron? Speak,  tell  me,  I  implore  you !  —  that  it  was  for  you, 
who  saved  my  life  and  redeemed  my  honour,  and  not  for  that 
cold  schemer,  that  I  renounced  all  my  hopes  of  earthly  hap- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  405 

piness,  and  surrendered  the  dream  of  winning  the  heart  and 
hand  of  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved !  " 

A  deep  shade  fell  over  the  features  of  Maltravers.  He 
gazed  earnestly  and  long  upon  the  working  countenance  of 
Legard,  and  said,  after  a  pause,  — 

"You,  too,  loved  her,  then?  I  never  knew  it, — never 
guessed  it;  or,  if  once  I  suspected,  it  was  but  for  a  moment; 
and  —  " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Legard,  passionately,  "Heaven  is  my 
witness  how  fervently  and  truly  I  did  love  —  I  do  still  love 
Evelyn  Cameron !  But  when  you  confessed  to  me  your  affec- 
tion —  your  hopes  —  I  felt  all  that  I  owed  you ;  I  felt  that  I 
never  ought  to  become  your  rival.  I  left  Paris  abruptly. 
What  I  have  suffered  I  will  not  say;  but  it  was  some  comfort 
to  think  that  I  had  acted  as  became  one  who  owed  you  a  debt 
never  to  be  cancelled  nor  repaid.  I  travelled  from  place  to 
place,  each  equally  hateful  and  wearisome;  at  last,  I  scarce 
know  why,  I  returned  to  England.  I  have  arrived  this  day ; 
and  now  —  but  tell  me,  is  it  true?" 

"I  believe  it  true,"  said  Maltravers,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"that  Evelyn  is  at  this  moment  engaged  to  Lord  Vargrave. 
I  believe  it  equally  true  that  that  engagement,  founded  upon 
false  impressions,  never  will  be  fulfilled.  With  that  hope 
and  that  belief,  I  am  on  my  road  to  Paris." 

"And  she  will  be  yours,  still?"  said  Legard,  turning  away 
his  face :  "  well,  that  I  can  bear.     May  you  be  happy,  sir ! " 

"Stay,  Legard,"  said  Maltravers,  in  a  voice  of  great  feel- 
ing :  "  let  us  understand  each  other  better ;  you  have  renounced 
your  passion  to  your  sense  of  honour."  Maltravers  paused 
thoughtfully.  "It  was  noble  in  you,  it  was  more  than  just 
to  me ;  I  thank  you  and  respect  you.  But,  Legard,  was  there 
aught  in  the  manner,  the  bearing  of  Evelyn  Cameron,  that 
could  lead  you  to  suppose  that  she  would  have  returned  your 
affection?  True,  had  we  started  on  equal  terms,  I  am  not 
vain  enough  to  be  blind  to  your  advantages  of  youth  and  per- 
son ;  but  I  believed  that  the  affections  of  Evelyn  were  already 
mine,  before  we  met  at  Paris." 

"It  might  be  so,"  said  Legard,  gloomily;  "nor  is  it  for  me 


406  ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES. 

to  say  tliat  a  heart  so  pure  and  generous  as  Evelyn's  could 
deceive  yourself  or  me.  Yet  I  had  fancied,  I  had  hoped, 
while  you  stood  aloof,  that  the  partiality  with  which  she 
regarded  you  was  that  of  admiration  more  than  love;  that 
you  had  dazzled  her  imagination  rather  than  won  her  heart. 
I  had  hoped  that  I  should  win,  that  I  was  winning,  my  way 
to  her  affection !     But  let  this  pass ;  I  drop  the  subject  forever 

—  only,  Maltravers,  only  do  me  justice.  You  are  a  proud 
man,  and  your  pride  has  often  irritated  and  stung  me,  in  spite 
of  my  gratitude.  Be  more  lenient  to  me  than  you  have  been ; 
think  that,  though  I  have  my  errors  and  my  follies,  I  am  still 
capable  of  some  conquests  over  myself.  And  most  sincerely 
do  I  now  wish  that  Evelyn's  love  may  be  to  you  that  blessing 
it  would  have  been  to  me !  " 

This  was,  indeed,  a  new  triumph  over  the  pride  of  Mal- 
travers, —  a  new  humiliation.  He  had  looked  with  a  cold 
contempt  on  this  man,  because  he  affected  not  to  be  above  the 
herd ;  and  this  man  had  preceded  him  in  the  very  sacrifice  he 
himself  meditated. 

"Legard,"  said  Maltravers,  and  a  faint  blush  overspread 
his  face,  "you  rebuke  me  justly.  I  acknowledge  my  fault, 
and  I  ask  you  to  forgive  it.  From  this  night,  whatever  hap- 
pens, I  shall  hold  it  an  honour  to  be  admitted  to  your  friend- 
ship ;  from  this  night,  George  Legard  never  shall  find  in  me 
the  offences  of  arrogance  and  harshness." 

Legard  wrung  the  hand  held  out  to  him  warmly,  but  made 
no  answer ;  his  heart  was  full,  and  he  would  not  trust  himself 
to  speak. 

"  You  think,  then,"  resumed  Maltravers,  in  a  more  thought- 
ful tone,  —  "you  think  that  Evelyn  could  have  loved  you,  had 
my  pretensions  not  crossed  your  own?    And  you  think,  also 

—  pardon  me,  dear  Legard  —  that  you  could  have  acquired  the 
steadiness  of  character,  the  firmness  of  purpose,  which  one  so 
fair,  so  young,  so  inexperienced  and  susceptible,  so  surrounded 
by  a  thousand  temptations,  would  need  in  a  guardian  and 
protector?  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  judge  of  me  by  what  I  have  been.  I  feel  that 
Evelyn  could  have  reformed  errors  worse  than  mine ;  that  her 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  407 

love  would  have  elevated  dispositions  yet  more  light  and  com- 
monplace. You  do  not  know  what  miracles  love  works !  But 
now,  what  is  there  left  for  me?  What  matters  it  how  frivo- 
lous and  poor  the  occupations  which  can  distract  my  thoughts, 
and  bring  me  forgetfulness?  Forgive  me;  I  have  no  right  to 
obtrude  all  this  egotism  on  you." 

"Do  not  despond,  Legard,"  said  Maltravers,  kindly;  "there 
may  be  better  fortunes  in  store  for  you  than  you  yet  antici- 
pate. I  cannot  say  more  now ;  but  will  you  remain  at  Dover 
a  few  days  longer?  Within  a  week  you  shall  hear  from  me. 
I  will  not  raise  hopes  that  it  may  not  be  mine  to  realize.  But 
if  it  be  as  you  think  it  was,  why  little,  indeed,  would  rest  with 
me.  Nay,  look  not  on  me  so  wistfully,"  added  Maltravers, 
with  a  mournful  smile ;  "  and  let  the  subject  close  for  the  pres- 
ent.    You  will  stay  at  Dover?  " 

"I  will;  but  —  " 

"No  buts,  Legard;  it  is  so  settled." 


BOOK    XI. 


'O  'AvOpwiros  fvepyerhs  ife<l>vK&s. — Mabcus  Antoninus,  lib.  iii- 
"  Man  is  born  to  be  a  doer  of  good." 


CHAPTER  I. 

His  teeth  he  still  did  grind, 
And  grimly  gnash,  threatening  revenge  in  vain.  —  Spenseb. 

It  is  now  time  to  return  to  Lord  Vargrave.  His  most 
sanguine  hopes  were  realized;  all  things  seemed  to  prosper. 
The  hand  of  Evelyn  Cameron  was  pledged  to  him,  the  wed- 
ding-day was  fixed.  In  less  than  a  week  she  was  to  confer 
upon  the  ruined  peer  a  splendid  dowry,  that  would  smooth 
all  obstacles  in  the  ascent  of  his  ambition.  Erom  Mr.  Douce 
he  learned  that  the  deeds,  which  were  to  transfer  to  himself 
the  baronial  possessions  of  the  head  of  the  house  of  Mal- 
travers,  were  nearly  completed;  and  on  his  wedding-day  he 
hoped  to  be  able  to  announce  that  the  happy  pair  had  set  out 
for  their  princely  mansion  of  Lisle  Court.  In  politics,  though 
nothing  could  be  finally  settled  till  his  return,  letters  from 
Lord  Saxingham  assured  him  that  all  was  auspicious:  the 
court  and  the  heads  of  the  aristocracy  daily  growing  more 
alienated  from  the  premier,  and  more  prepared  for  a  Cabinet 
revolution.  And  Vargrave,  perhaps,  like  most  needy  men, 
overrated  the  advantages  he  should  derive  from,  and  the  ser- 
vile opinions  he  should  conciliate  in,  his  new  character  of 
landed  proprietor  and  wealthy  peer.  He  was  not  insensible 
to  the  silent  anguish  that  Evelyn  seemed  to  endure,  nor  to 
the  bitter  gloom  that  hung  on  the  brow  of  Lady  Doltimore. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  409 

But  these  were  clouds  that  foretold  no  storm,  —  light  shadows 
that  obscured  not  the  serenity  of  the  favouring  sky.  He  con- 
tinued to  seem  unconscious  to  either;  to  take  the  coming 
event  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  to  Evelyn  he  evinced  so 
gentle,  unfamiliar,  respectful,  and  delicate  an  attachment, 
that  he  left  no  opening,  either  for  confidence  or  complaint. 
Poor  Evelyn!  her  gayety,  her  enchanting  levity,  her  sweet 
and  infantine  playfulness  of  manner,  were  indeed  vanished. 
Pale,  wan,  passive,  and  smileless,  she  was  the  ghost  of  her 
former  self!  But  days  rolled  on,  and  the  evil  one  drew  near; 
she  recoiled,  but  she  never  dreamed  of  resisting.  How  many 
equal  victims  of  her  age  and  sex  does  the  altar  witness ! 

One  day,  at  early  noon.  Lord  Vargrave  took  his  way  to 
Evelyn's.  He  had  been  to  pay  a  political  visit  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain,  and  he  was  now  slowly  crossing  the  more 
quiet  and  solitary  part  of  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him,  after  his  old,  unaltered  habit,  and 
his  eyes  downcast,  — when  suddenly  a  man,  who  was  seated 
alone  beneath  one  of  the  trees,  and  who  had  for  some  mo- 
ments watched  his  steps  with  an  anxious  and  wild  aspect, 
rose  and  approached  him.  Lord  Vargrave  was  not  conscious 
of  the  intrusion,  till  the  man  laid  his  hand  on  Vargrave's  arm, 
and  exclaimed,  — 

"It  is  he!  it  is!     Lumley  Ferrers,  we  meet  again!  " 

Lord  Vargrave  started  and  changed  colour,  as  he  gazed  on 
the  intruder. 

"Ferrers,"  continued  Cesar ini  (for  it  was  he),  and  he  wound 
his  arm  firmly  into  Lord  Vargrave's  as  he  spoke,  "you  have 
not  changed;  your  step  is  light,  your  cheek  healthful;  and 
yet  I  —  you  can  scarcely  recognize  me.  Oh,  I  have  suffered 
so  horribly  since  we  parted!  Why  is  this?  Why  have  I 
been  so  heavily  visited,  and  why  have  you  gone  free? 
Heaven  is  not  just ! " 

Castruccio  was  in  one  of  his  lucid  intervals ;  but  there  was 
that  in  his  uncertain  eye,  and  strange  unnatural  voice,  which 
showed  that  a  breath  might  dissolve  the  avalanche.  Lord 
Vargrave  looked  anxiously  round;  none  were  near:  but  he 
knew  that  the  more  public  parts  of  the  garden  were  thronged, 


410  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

and  tlirougli  the  trees  he  saw  many  forms  moving  in  the  dis- 
tance. He  felt  that  the  sound  of  his  voice  could  summon 
assistance  in  an  instant,  and  his  assurance  returned  to  him. 

"  My  poor  friend, "  said  he  soothingly,  as  he  quickened  his 
pace,  "it  grieves  me  to  the  heart  to  see  you  look  ill;  do  not 
think  so  much  of  what  is  past." 

"There  is  no  past!"  replied  Cesarini,  gloomily.  "The 
Past  is  my  Present!  And  I  have  thought  and  thought,  in 
darkness  and  in  chains,  over  all  that  I  have  endured,  and  a 
light  has  broken  on  me  in  the  hours  when  they  told  me  I  was 
mad !  Lumley  Ferrers,  it  was  not  for  my  sake  that  you  led 
me,  devil  as  you  are,  into  the  lowest  hell!  You  had  some 
object  of  your  own  to  serve  in  separating  her  from  Maltravers. 
You  made  me  your  instrument.  What  was  I  to  you  that  you 
should  have  sinned  for  my  sake?  Answer  me,  and  truly,  if 
those  lips  can  utter  truth !  " 

"Cesarini,"  returned  Vargrave,  in  his  blandest  accents, 
"another  time  we  will  converse  on  what  has  been;  believe 
me,  my  only  object  was  your  happiness,  combined,  it  may  be, 
with  my  hatred  of  your  rival." 

"Liar!"  shouted  Cesarini,  grasping  Vargrave's  arm  with 
the  strength  of  growing  madness,  while  his  burning  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  his  tempter's  changing  countenance.  "  You,  too, 
loved  Florence ;  you,  too,  sought  her  hand ;  you  were  my  real 
rival!" 

"Hush!  my  friend,  hush!  "  said  Vargrave,  seeking  to  shake 
off  the  gripe  of  the  maniac,  and  becoming  seriously  alarmed; 
"we  are  approaching  the  crowded  part  of  the  gardens,  we 
shall  be  observed." 

"And  why  are  men  made  my  foes?  Why  is  my  own  sister 
become  my  persecutor?  Why  should  she  give  me  up  to  the 
torturer  and  the  dungeon?  Why  are  serpents  and  fiends  my 
comrades?  Why  is  there  fire  in  my  brain  and  heart;  and  why 
do  you  go  free  and  enjoy  liberty  and  life?  Observed!  what 
care  you  for  observation?    All  men  search  for  me!  " 

"Then  why  so  openly  expose  yourself  to  their  notice; 
why  —  " 

"  Hear  me ! "  interrupted  Cesarini.     "  When  I  escaped  from 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  411 

the  horrible  prison  into  which  I  was  plunged;  when  I  scented 
the  fresh  air,  and  bounded  over  the  grass;  when  I  was  again 
free  in  limbs  and  spirit,  —  a  sudden  strain  of  music  from  a 
village  came  on  my  ear,  and  I  stopped  short,  and  crouched 
down,  and  held  my  breath  to  listen.  It  ceased ;  and  I  thought 
I  had  been  with  Florence,  and  I  wept  bitterly!  When  I 
recovered,  memory  came  back  to  me  distinct  and  clear;  and 
I  heard  a  voice  say  to  me,  '  Avenge  her  and  thyself ! '  From 
that  hour  the  voice  has  been  heard  again,  morning  and  night  I 
Lumley  Ferrers,  I  hear  it  now!  it  speaks  to  my  heart,  it 
warms  my  blood,  it  nerves  my  hand !  On  whom  should  ven- 
geance fall?    Speak  to  me!  " 

Lumley  strode  rapidly  on.  They  were  now  without  the 
grove;  a  gay  throng  was  before  them.  "All  is  safe,"  thought 
the  Englishman.  He  turned  abruptly  and  haughtily  on 
Cesarini,  and  waved  his  hand ;  "  Begone,  madman !  "  said  he, 
in  a  loud  and  stern  voice,  —  "  begone !  vex  me  no  more,  or  I 
give  you  into  custody.     Begone,  I  say !  " 

Cesarini  halted,  amazed  and  awed  for  the  moment;  and 
then,  with  a  dark  scowl  and  a  low  cry,  threw  himself  on 
Vargrave.  The  eye  and  hand  of  the  latter  were  vigilant 
and  prepared;  he  grasped  the  uplifted  arm  of  the  maniac, 
and  shouted  for  help.  But  the  madman  was  now  in  his  full 
fury;  he  hurled  Vargrave  to  the  ground  with  a  force  for 
which  the  peer  was  not  prepared,  and  Lumley  might  never 
have  risen  a  living  man  from  that  spot,  if  two  soldiers,  seated 
close  by,  had  not  hastened  to  his  assistance.  Cesarini  was 
already  kneeling  on  his  breast,  and  his  long  bony  fingers  were 
fastening  upon  the  throat  of  his  intended  victim.  Torn  from 
his  hold,  he  glared  fiercely  on  his  new  assailants ;  and  after  a 
fierce  but  momentary  struggle,  wrested  himself  from  their 
gripe.  Then,  turning  round  to  Vargrave,  who  had  with  some 
effort  risen  from  the  ground,  he  shrieked  out,  "  I  shall  have 
thee  yet ! "  and  fled  through  the  trees  and  disappeared. 


412  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Ah,  who  is  nigh  1     Come  to  me,  friend  or  foe ! 
My  parks,  my  walks,  my  manors  that  I  had, 
Ev'n  now  forsake  me.  —  Henri/  VI.  Part  iii. 

Lord  Vabgrave,  bold  as  lie  was  by  nature,  in  vain  endeav- 
oured to  banish  from  his  mind  the  gloomy  impression  which 
the  startling  interview  with  Cesarini  had  bequeathed.  The 
face,  the  voice  of  the  maniac,  haunted  him,  as  the  shape  of 
the  warning  wraith  haunts  the  mountaineer.  He  returned  at 
once  to  his  hotel,  unable  for  some  hours  to  collect  himself 
sufficiently  to  pay  his  customary  visit  to  Miss  Cameron.  Inly 
resolving  not  to  hazard  a  second  meeting  with  the  Italian  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  his  sojourn  at  Paris  by  venturing  in  the  streets 
on  foot,  he  ordered  his  carriage  towards  evening;  dined  at  the 
Caf6  de  Paris ;  and  then  re-entered  his  carriage  to  proceed  to 
Lady  Doltimore's  house. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,"  said  his  servant,  as  he 
closed  the  carriage-door,  "but  I  forgot  to  say  that,  a  short 
time  after  you  returned  this  morning,  a  strange  gentleman 
asked  at  the  porter's  lodge  if  Mr,  Ferrers  was  not  staying  at 
the  hotel.  The  porter  said  there  was  no  Mr.  Ferrers,  but  the 
gentleman  insisted  upon  it  that  he  had  seen  Mr.  Ferrers 
enter.  I  was  in  the  lodge  at  the  moment,  my  lord,  and  I 
explained  —  " 

"That  Mr.  Ferrers  and  Lord  Vargrave  are  one  and  the 
same?     What  sort  of  looking  person?" 

"  Thin  and  dark,  my  lord,  —  evidently  a  foreigner.  When 
I  said  that  you  were  now  Lord  Vargrave,  he  stared  a  moment, 
and  said  very  abruptly  that  he  recollected  it  perfectly,  and 
then  he  laughed  and  walked  away." 

"Did  he  not  ask  to  see  me?" 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  418 

"No,  my  lord;  he  said  he  should  take  another  opportunity. 
He  was  a  strange-looking  gentleman,  and  his  clothes  were 
threadbare." 

"Ah,  some  troublesome  petitioner.  Perhaps  a  Pole  in 
distress!  Remember  I  am  never  at  home  when  he  calls. 
Shut  the  door.     To  Lady  Doltimore's." 

Lumley's  heart  beat  as  he  threw  himself  back,  —  he  again 
felt  the  gripe  of  the  madman  at  his  throat.  He  saw,  at  once, 
that  Cesarini  had  dogged  him;  he  resolved  the  next  morning 
to  change  his  hotel,  and  to  apply  to  the  police.  It  was  strange 
how  sudden  and  keen  a  fear  had  entered  the  breast  of  this 
callous  and  resolute  man! 

On  arriving  at  Lady  Doltimore's,  he  found  Caroline  alone 
in  the  drawing-room.  It  was  a  tete-a-tete  that  he  by  no  means 
desired. 

"Lord  Vargrave,"  said  Caroline,  coldly,  "I  wished  a  short 
conversation  with  you;  and  finding  you  did  not  come  in  the 
morning,  I  sent  you  a  note  an  hour  ago.     Did  you  receive  it?  " 

"No;  I  have  been  from  home  since  six  o'clock,  — it  is  now 
nine." 

"Well,  then,  Vargrave,"  said  Caroline, /with  a  compressed 
and  writhing  lip,  and  turning  very  pale,  "I  tremble  to  tell 
you  that  I  fear  Doltimore  suspects.  He  looked  at  me  sternly 
this  morning,  and  said,  *  You  seem  unhappy,  madam ;  this 
marriage  of  Lord  Vargrave's  distresses  you! '  " 

"  I  warned  you  how  it  would  be,  —  your  own  selfishness  will 
betray  and  ruin  you." 

"  Do  not  reproach  me,  man ! "  said  Lady  Doltimore,  with 
great  vehemence.  "  From  you  at  least  I  have  a  right  to  pity,  to 
forbearance,  to  succour.     I  will  not  bear  reproach  from  you." 

"I  reproach  you  for  your  own  sake,  for  the  faults  you 
commit  against  yourself;  and  I  must  say,  Caroline,  that  after 
I  had  generously  conquered  all  selfish  feeling,  and  assisted 
you  to  so  desirable  and  even  brilliant  a  position,  it  is  neither 
just  nor  high-minded  in  you  to  evince  so  ungracious  a  reluc- 
tance to  my  taking  the  only  step  which  can  save  me  from 
actual  ruin.  But  what  does  Doltimore  suspect?  What 
ground  has  he  for  suspicion,  beyond  that  want  of  command 


414  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

of  countenance  which  it  is  easy  to  explain,  —  and  which  it  is 
yet  easier  for  a  woman  and  a  great  lady  [here  Lumley  sneered] 
to  acquire?" 

"  I  know  not ;  it  has  been  put  into  his  head.  Paris  is  so 
full  of  slander.  But,  Vargrave  —  Lumley  —  I  tremble,  I 
shudder  with  terror,  if  ever  Doltimore  should  discover  — " 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  Our  conduct  at  Paris  has  been  most  guarded, 
most  discreet.  Doltimore  is  Self-conceit  personified,  —  and 
Self-conceit  is  horn-eyed.  I  am  about  to  leave  Paris,  —  about 
to  marry,  from  under  your  own  roof;  a  little  prudence,  a  little 
self-control,  a  smiling  face,  when  you  wish  us  happiness,  and 
so  forth,  and  all  is  safe.  Tush !  think  of  it  no  more !  Pate 
has  cut  and  shuffled  the  cards  for  you;  the  game  is  yours, 
unless  you  revoke.  Pardon  my  metaphor;  it  is  a  favourite 
one,  —  I  have  worn  it  threadbare ;  but  human  life  is  so  like  a 
rubber  at  whist.     Where  is  Evelyn?" 

"  In  her  own  room.     Have  you  no  pity  for  her?  " 

"  She  will  be  very  happy  when  she  is  Lady  Vargrave ;  and 
for  the  rest,  I  shall  neither  be  a  stern  nor  a  jealous  husband. 
She  might  not  have  given  the  same  character  to  the  magnifi- 
cent Maltravers." 

Here  Evelyn  entered;  and  Vargrave  hastened  to  press  her 
hand,  to  whisper  tender  salutations  and  compliments,  to  draw 
the  easy-chair  to  the  fire,  to  place  the  footstool,  —  to  lavish 
the  petits  soins  that  are  so  agreeable,  when  they  are  the  small 
moralities  of  love. 

Evelyn  was  more  than  usually  pale,  —  more  than  usually 
abstracted.  There  was  no  lustre  in  her  eje,  no  life  in  her 
step;  she  seemed  unconscious  of  the  crisis  to  which  she 
approached.  As  the  myrrh  and  hyssop  which  drugged  the 
malefactors  of  old  into  forgetfulness  of  their  doom,  so 
there  are  griefs  which  stupefy  before  their  last  and  crowning 
consummation ! 

Vargrave  conversed  lightly  on  the  weather,  the  news,  the 
last  book.  Evelyn  answered  but  in  monosyllables ;  and  Caro- 
line, with  a  hand-screen  before  her  face,  preserved  an  unbroken 
silence.  Thus  gloomy  and  joyless  were  two  of  the  party,  thus 
gay  and  animated  the  third,  when  the  clock  on  the  mantel- 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  415 

piece  struck  ten;  and  as  the  last  stroke  died,  and  Evelyn 
sighed  heavily,  —  for  it  was  an  hour  nearer  to  the  fatal  day, 
—  the  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  pushing  aside  the 
servant,  two  gentlemen  entered  the  room. 

Caroline,  the  first  to  perceive  them,  started  from  her  seat 
with  a  faint  exclamation  of  surprise.  Vargrave  turned  ab- 
ruptly, and  saw  before  him  the  stern  countenance  of 
Maltravers. 

"  My  child !  my  Evelyn !  "  exclaimed  a  familiar  voice ;  and 
Evelyn  had  already  flown  into  the  arms  of  Aubrey. 

The  sight  of  the  curate  in  company  with  Maltravers 
explained  all  at  once  to  Vargrave.  He  saw  that  the  mask 
was  torn  from  his  face,  the  prize  snatched  from  his  grasp,  his 
falsehood  known,  his  plot  counterworked,  his  villany  baffled! 
He  struggled  in  vain  for  self-composure;  all  his  resources  of 
courage  and  craft  seemed  drained  and  exhausted.  Livid, 
speechless,  almost  trembling,  he  cowered  beneath  the  eyes 
of  Maltravers. 

Evelyn,  not  as  yet  aware  of  the  presence  of  her  former 
lover,  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  She  lifted  her  face 
in  alarm  from  the  bosom  of  the  good  curate.  "  My  mother  — 
she  is  well  —  she  lives  —  what  brings  you  hither?  " 

"Your  mother  is  well,  my  child.  I  have  come  hither  at 
her  earnest  request  to  save  you  from  a  marriage  with  that 
unworthy  man ! " 

Lord  Vargrave  smiled  a  ghastly  smile,  but  made  no  answer. 

"Lord  Vargrave,"  said  Maltravers,  "you  will  feel  at  once 
that  you  have  no  further  business  under  this  roof.  Let  us 
withdraw,  — I  have  much  to  thank  you  for." 

"  I  will  not  stir ! "  exclaimed  Vargrave,  passionately,  and 
stamping  on  the  floor.  "Miss  Cameron,  the  guest  of  Lady 
Doltimore,  whose  house  and  presence  you  thus  rudely  profane, 
is  my  affianced  bride,  — affianced  with  her  own  consent.  Eve- 
lyn, beloved  Evelyn !  mine  you  are  yet ;  you  alone  can  cancel 
the  bond.  Sir,  I  know  not  what  you  have  to  say,  what  mys- 
tery in  your  immaculate  life  to  disclose;  but  unless  Lady 
Doltimore,  whom  your  violence  appalls  and  terrifies,  orders  me 
to  quit  her  roof,  it  is  not  I,  —  it  is  yourself,  who  are  the 


416  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

intruder!  Lady  Doltimore,  with  your  permission,  I  will 
direct  your  servants  to  conduct  this  gentleman  to  his 
carriage ! " 

" Lady  Doltimore,  pardon  me,"  said  Maltravers,  coldly;  "I 
will  not  be  urged  to  any  failure  of  respect  to  you.  My  lord, 
if  the  most  abject  cowardice  be  not  added  to  your  other  vices, 
you  will  not  make  this  room  the  theatre  for  our  altercation. 
I  invite  you,  in  those  terms  which  no  gentleman  ever  yet 
refused,  to  withdraw  with  me." 

The  tone  and  manner  of  Maltravers  exercised  a  strange 
control  over  Vargrave ;  he  endeavoured  in  vain  to  keep  alive 
the  passion  into  which  he  had  sought  to  work  himself;  his 
voice  faltered,  his  head  sank  upon  his  breast.  Between  these 
two  personages,  none  interfered;  around  them,  all  present 
grouped  in  breathless  silence,  —  Caroline,  turning  her  eyes 
from  one  to  the  other  in  wonder  and  dismay;  Evelyn,  be- 
lieving all  a  dream,  yet  alive  only  to  the  thouglit  that,  by 
some  merciful  interposition  of  Providence,  she  should  escape 
the  consequences  of  her  own  rashness,  clinging  to  Aubrey, 
with  her  gaze  riveted  on  Maltravers;  and  Aubrey,  whose 
gentle  character  was  borne  down  and  silenced  by  the  power- 
ful and  tempestuous  passions  that  now  met  in  collision  and 
conflict,  withheld  by  his  abhorrence  of  Vargrave 's  treachery 
from  his  natural  desire  to  propitiate,  and  yet  appalled  by  the 
apprehension  of  bloodshed,  that  for  the  first  time  crossed  him. 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence,  in  which  Vargrave 
seemed  to  be  nerving  and  collecting  himself  for  such  course 
as  might  be  best  to  pursue,  when  again  the  door  opened,  and 
the  name  of  Mr.  Howard  was  announced. 

Hurried  and  agitated,  the  young  secretary,  scarcely  noticing 
the  rest  of  the  party,  rushed  to  Lord  Vargrave. 

"  My  lord !  a  thousand  pardons  for  interrupting  you,  — 
business  of  such  importance!  I  am  so  fortunate  to  find 
you!" 

"What  is  the  matter,  sir?" 

"  These  letters,  my  lord ;  I  have  so  much  to  say ! " 

Any  interruption,  even  an  earthquake,  at  that  moment 
must  have  been  welcome  to  Vargrave.     He  bent  his  head, 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  417 

with  a  polite  smile,  linked  his  arm  into  his  secretary's,  and 
withdrew  to  the  recess  of  the  farthest  window.  Not  a  minute 
elapsed  before  he  turned  away  with  a  look  of  scornful  exulta- 
tion. "  Mr.  Howard, "  said  he,  "  go  and  refresh  yourself,  and 
come  to  me  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night;  I  shall  be  at  home 
then."     The  secretary  bowed,  and  withdrew. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Vargrave,  to  Maltravers,  "I  am  willing  to 
leave  you  in  possession  of  the  field.  Miss  Cameron,  it  will 
be,  I  fear,  impossible  for  me  to  entertain  any  longer  the  bright 
hopes  I  had  once  formed;  my  cruel  fate  compels  me  to  seek 
wealth  in  any  matrimonial  engagement.  I  regret  to  inform 
you  that  you  are  no  longer  the  great  heiress;  the  whole  of 
your  capital  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Douce  for  the  com- 
pletion of  the  purchase  of  Lisle  Court.  Mr.  Douce  is  a  bank- 
rupt; he  has  fled  to  America.  This  letter  is  an  express  from 
my  lawyer ;  the  house  has  closed  its  payments !  Perhaps  we 
may  hope  to  obtain  sixpence  in  the  pound.  I  am  a  loser  also ; 
the  forfeit  money  bequeathed  to  me  is  gone.  I  know  not 
whether,  as  your  trustee,  I  am  not  accountable  for  the  loss  of 
your  fortune  (drawn  out  on  my  responsibility) ;  probably  so. 
But  as  I  have  not  now  a  shilling  in  the  world,  I  doubt  whether 
Mr.  Maltravers  will  advise  you  to  institute  proceedings  against 
me.  Mr.  Maltravers,  to-morrow,  at  nine  o'clock,  I  will  listen 
to  what  you  have  to  say.  I  wish  you  all  good-night."  He 
bowed,  seized  his  hat,  and  vanished. 

"Evelyn,"  said  Aubrey,  "can  you  require  to  learn  more; 
do  you  not  already  feel  you  are  released  from  union  with  a 
man  without  heart  and  honour?" 

"Yes,  yes!  I  am  so  happy!"  cried  Evelyn,  bursting  into 
tears.  "  This  hated  wealth,  —  I  feel  not  its  loss ;  I  am  re- 
leased from  all  duty  to  my  benefactor.     I  am  free !  " 

The  last  tie  that  had  yet  united  the  guilty  Caroline  to  Var- 
grave was  broken,  —  a  woman  forgives  sin  in  her  lover,  but 
never  meanness.  The  degrading,  the  abject  position  in  which 
she  had  seen  one  whom  she  had  served  as  a  slave  (though,  as 
yet,  all  his  worst  villanies  were  unknown  to  her),  filled  her 
with  shame,  horror,  and  disgust.  She  rose  abruptly,  and 
quitted  the  room.     They  did  not  miss  her. 

27 


418  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Maltravers  approached  Evelyn;  he  took  her  hand,  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  heart. 

"Evelyn,"  said  he,  mournfully,  "you  require  an  explana- 
tion, —  to-morrow  I  will  give  and  seek  it.  To-night  we  are 
both  too  unnerved  for  such  communications.  I  can  only  now 
feel  joy  at  your  escape,  and  hope  that  I  may  still  minister  to 
your  future  happiness." 

"But,"  said  Aubrey,  "can  we  believe  this  new  and  astound- 
ing statement?  Can  this  loss  be  so  irremediable;  may  we  not 
yet  take  precaution,  and  save,  at  least,  some  wrecks  of  this 
noble  fortune?" 

"I  thank  you  for  recalling  me  to  the  world,"  said  Mal- 
travers, eagerly.  "I  will  see  to  it  this  instant;  and  to- 
morrow, Evelyn,  after  my  interview  with  you,  I  will  hasten 
to  London,  and  act  in  that  capacity  still  left  to  me,  —  your 
guardian,  your  friend." 

He  turned  away  his  face,  and  hurried  to  the  door. 

Evelyn  clung  more  closely  to  Aubrey.  "  But  you  will  not 
leave  me  to-night?  You  can  stay?  We  can  find  you  accom- 
modation; do  not  leave  me." 

"  Leave  you,  my  child !  no ;  we  have  a  thousand  things  to 
say  to  each  other.  I  will  not,"  he  added  in  a  whisper,  turn- 
ing to  Maltravers,  "forestall  your  communications." 


CHAPTER  Til. 

Alack,  't  is  he.    Why,  he  was  met  even  now 
As  mad  as  the  vexed  sea.  —  Lear. 

Ix  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  there  resided  an  English  lawyer  of 
eminence,  with  whom  Maltravers  had  had  previous  dealings ; 
to  this  gentleman  he  now  drove.  He  acquainted  him  with 
the  news  he  had  just  heard,  respecting  the  bankruptcy  of  Mr. 
Douce;  and  commissioned  him  to  leave  Paris,  the  first  mo- 
ment he  could  obtain  a  passport,  and  to  proceed  to  London. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  419 

At  all  events,  he  would  arrive  there  some  hours  before  Mal- 
travers ;  and  those  hours  were  something  gained.  This  done, 
he  drove  to  the  nearest  hotel,  which  chanced  to  be  the  Hotel 

de  M ,  where,  though  he  knew  it  not,  it  so  happened  that 

Lord  Vargrave  himself  lodged.  As  his  carriage  stopped  with- 
out, while  the  porter  unclosed  the  gates,  a  man,  who  had  been 
loitering  imder  the  lamps,  darted  forward,  and  prying  into 
the  carriage-window,  regarded  Maltravers  earnestly.  The 
latter,  pre-occupied  and  absorbed,  did  not  notice  him;  but 
when  the  carriage  drove  into  the  courtyard  it  was  followed  by 
the  stranger,  who  was  muffled  in  a  worn  and  tattered  cloak, 
and  whose  movements  were  unheeded  amidst  the  bustle  of  the 
arrival.  The  porter's  wife  led  the  way  to  a  second-floor,  just 
left  vacant,  and  the  waiter  began  to  arrange  the  fire.  Mal- 
travers threw  himself  abstractedly  upon  the  sofa,  insensible  to 
all  around  him,  when,  lifting  his  eyes,  he  saw  before  him  the 
countenance  of  Cesarini !  The  Italian  (supposed,  perhaps,  by 
the  persons  of  the  hotel  to  be  one  of  the  newcomers)  was  lean- 
ing over  the  back  of  a  chair,  supporting  his  face  with  his  hand, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  with  an  earnest  and  sorrowful  expression 
upon  the  features  of  his  ancient  rival.  When  he  perceived 
that  he  was  recognized,  he  approached  Maltravers,  and  said 
in  Italian,  and  in  a  low  voice,  "  You  are  the  man  of  all  others, 
whom,  save  one,  I  most  desired  to  see.  I  have  much  to  say 
to  you,  and  my  time  is  short.     Spare  me  a  few  minutes." 

The  tone  and  manner  of  Cesarini  were  so  calm  and  rational 
that  they  changed  the  first  impulse  of  Maltravers,  which  was 
that  of  securing  a  maniac ;  while  the  Italian's  emaciated  coun- 
tenance, his  squalid  garments,  the  air  of  penury  and  want 
diffused  over  his  whole  appearance,  irresistibly  invited  com- 
passion. With  all  the  more  anxious  and  pressing  thoughts 
that  weighed  upon  him,  Maltravers  could  not  refuse  the  con- 
ference thus  demanded.  He  dismissed  the  attendants,  and 
motioned  Cesarini  to  be  seated. 

The  Italian  drew  near  to  the  fire,  which  now  blazed  brightly 
and  cheerily,  and,  spreading  his  thin  hands  to  the  flame, 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  physical  luxury  of  the  warmth.  "Cold, 
cold,"  he  said  piteously,  as  to  himself;  "Nature  is  a  very  bit- 


420  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

ter  protector.  But  frost  and  famine  are,  at  least,  more  merci- 
ful than  slavery  and  darkness." 

At  this  moment  Ernest's  servant  entered  to  know  if  his 
master  would  not  take  refreshments,  for  he  had  scarcely 
touched  food  upon  the  road.  And  as  he  spoke,  Cesarini 
turned  keenly  and  wistfully  round.  There  was  no  mistaking 
the  appeal.  Wine  and  cold  meat  were  ordered:  and  when 
the  servant  vanished,  Cesarini  turned  to  Maltravers  with  a 
strange  smile,  and  said,  "You  see  what  the  love  of  liberty 
brings  men  to!  They  found  me  plenty  in  the  jail!  But  I 
have  read  of  men  who  feasted  merrily  before  execution  —  have 
not  you?  —  and  my  hour  is  at  hand.  All  this  day  I  have  felt 
chained  by  an  irresistible  destiny  to  this  house.  But  it  was 
not  you  I  sought;  no  matter,  in  the  crisis  of  our  doom  all  its 
agents  meet  together.     It  is  the  last  act  of  a  dreary  play !  " 

The  Italian  turned  again  to  the  fire,  and  bent  over  it, 
muttering  to  himself. 

Maltravers  remained  silent  and  thoughtful.  Now  was  the 
moment  once  more  to  place  the  maniac  under  the  kindly  vigi- 
lance of  his  family,  to  snatch  him  from  the  horrors,  perhaps, 
of  starvation  itself,  to  which  his  escape  condemned  him:  if 
he  could  detain  Cesarini  till  De  Montaigne  could  arrive ! 

Agreeably  to  this  thought,  he  quietly  drew  towards  him 
the  portfolio  which  had  been  laid  on  the  table,  and,  Cesarini's 
back  still  turned  to  him,  wrote  a  hasty  line  to  De  Montaigne. 
When  his  servant  re-entered  with  the  wine  and  viands,  Mal- 
travers followed  him  out  of  the  room,  and  bade  him  see  the 
note  sent  immediately.  On  returning,  he  found  Cesarini 
devouring  the  food  before  him  with  all  the  voracity  of 
famine.  It  was  a  dreadful  sight! — the  intellect  ruined,  the 
mind  darkened,  the  wild,  fierce  animal  alone  left! 

When  Cesarini  had  appeased  his  hunger,  he  drew  near  to 
Maltravers,  and  thus  accosted  him,  — 

"I  must  lead  you  back  to  the  past.  I  sinned  against  you 
and  the  dead;  but  Heaven  has  avenged  you,  and  me  you  can 
pity  and  forgive.  Maltravers,  there  is  another  more  guilty 
than  I,  —  but  proud,  prosperous,  and  great.  His  crime 
Heaven  has  left  to  the  revenge  of  man!     I  bound  myself 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  421 

by  an  oath  not  to  reveal  his  villany.  I  cancel  the  oath  now, 
for  the  knowledge  of  it  should  survive  his  life  and  mine. 
And,  mad  though  they  deem  me,  the  mad  are  prophets,  and  a 
solemn  conviction,  a  voice  not  of  earth,  tells  me  that  he  and 
I  are  already  in  the  Shadow  of  Death." 

Here  Cesarini,  with  a  calm  and  precise  accuracy  of  self- 
possession,  —  a  minuteness  of  circumstance  and  detail,  that, 
coming  from  one  whose  very  eyes  betrayed  his  terrible  disease, 
was  infinitely  thrilling  in  its  effect,  —  related  the  counsels,  the 
persuasions,  the  stratagems  of  Lumley.  Slowly  and  distinctly 
he  forced  into  the  heart  of  Maltravers  that  sickening  record 
of  cold  fraud  calculating  on  vehement  passion  as  its  tool ;  and 
thus  he  concluded  his  narration,  — 

"Now  wonder  no  longer  why  I  have  lived  till  this  hour; 
why  I  have  clung  to  freedom,  through  want  and  hunger, 
amidst  beggars,  felons,  and  outcasts!  In  that  freedom  was 
my  last  hope,  —  the  hope  of  revenge !  " 

Maltravers  returned  no  answer  for  some  moments.  At 
length  he  said  calmly,  "  Cesarini,  there  are  injuries  so  great 
that  they  defy  revenge.  Let  us  alike,  since  we  are  alike 
injured,  trust  our  cause  to  Him  who  reads  all  hearts,  and, 
better  than  we  can  do,  measures  both  crime  and  its  excuses. 
You  think  that  our  enemy  has  not  suffered,  —  that  he  has  gone 
free.  We  know  not  his  internal  history;  prosperity  and  power 
are  no  signs  of  happiness,  they  bring  no  exemption  from  care. 
Be  soothed  and  be  ruled,  Cesarini.  Let  the  stone  once  more 
close  over  the  solemn  grave.  Turn  with  me  to  the  future; 
and  let  us  rather  seek  to  be  the  judges  of  ourselves,  than  the 
executioners  of  another." 

Cesarini  listened  gloomily,  and  was  about  to  answer, 
when  — 

But  here  we  must  return  to  Lord  Vargrave. 


422  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

My  noble  lord, 
Your  worthy  friends  do  lack  you.  —  Macbeth. 

He  is  about  it ; 
The  doors  are  open.  —  Ibid 

On  quitting  Lady  Doltimore's  house,  Lumley  drove  to  his 
hotel.  His  secretary  had  been  the  bearer  of  other  communi- 
cations, with  the  nature  of  which  he  had  not  yet  acquainted 
himself;  but  he  saw  by  the  superscriptions  that  they  were  of 
great  importance.  Still,  however,  even  in  the  solitude  and 
privacy  of  his  own  chamber,  it  was  not  on  the  instant  that  he 
could  divert  his  thoughts  from  the  ruin  of  his  fortunes :  the 
loss  not  only  of  Evelyn's  property,  but  his  own  claims  upon 
it  (for  the  whole  capital  had  been  placed  in  Douce's  hands), 
the  total  wreck  of  his  grand  scheme,  the  triumph  he  had 
afforded  to  Maltravers!  He  ground  his  teeth  in  impotent 
rage,  and  groaned  aloud,  as  he  traversed  his  room  with  hasty 
and  uneven  strides.  At  last  he  paused  and  muttered :  "  Well, 
the  spider  toils  on  even  when  its  very  power  of  weaving  fresh 
webs  is  exhausted ;  it  lies  in  wait,  —  it  forces  itself  into  the 
webs  of  others.  Brave  insect,  thou  art  my  model!  While  I 
have  breath  in  my  body,  the  world  and  all  its  crosses.  For- 
tune and  all  her  malignity,  shall  not  prevail  against  me! 
What  man  ever  yet  failed  until  he  himself  grew  craven,  and 
sold  his  soul  to  the  arch  fiend,  Despair!  'T  is  but  a  girl  and 
a  fortune  lost,  —  they  were  gallantly  fought  for,  that  is  some 
comfort.     Now  to  what  is  yet  left  to  me !  " 

The  first  letter  Lumley  opened  was  from  Lord  Saxingham. 
It  filled  him  with  dismay.  The  question  at  issue  had  been 
formally,  but  abruptly,  decided  in  the  Cabinet  against  Var- 
grave  and  his  manoeuvres.  Some  hasty  expressions  of  Lord 
Saxingham  had  been  instantly  caught  at  by  the  premier,  and 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  428 

a  resignation,  rather  hinted  at  than  declared,  had  been  per- 
emptorily accepted.  Lord  Saxingham  and  Lumley's  adher- 
ents in  the  Government  were  to  a  man  dismissed;  and  at 
the  time  Lord  Saxingham  wrote  the  premier  was  with  the 
king. 

"  Curse  their  folly !  —  the  puppets !  the  dolts !  "  exclaimed 
Lumley,  crushing  the  letter  in  his  hand.  "The  moment  I 
leave  them,  they  run  their  heads  against  the  wall.  Curse 
them!  curse  myself!  curse  the  man  who  weaves  ropes  with 
sand!  Nothing  —  nothing  left  for  me  but  exile  or  suicide! 
Stay,  what  is  this?"  His  eye  fell  on  the  well-known  hand- 
writing of  the  premier.  He  tore  the  envelope,  impatient  to 
know  the  worst.  His  eyes  sparkled  as  he  proceeded.  The 
letter  was  most  courteous,  most  complimentary,  most  wooing. 
The  minister  was  a  man  consummately  versed  in  the  arts  that 
increase,  as  well  as  those  which  purge,  a  party.  Saxingham 
and  his  friends  were  imbeciles,  incapables,  mostly  men  who 
had  outlived  their  day.  But  Lord  Vargrave,  in  the  prime  of 
life  —  versatile,  accomplished,  vigorous,  bitter,  unscrupulous 
— Vargrave  was  of  another  mould,  Vargrave  was  to  be  dreaded ; 
and  therefore,  if  possible,  to  be  retained.  His  powers  of  mis- 
chief were  unquestionably  increased  by  the  universal  talk  of 
London  that  he  was  about  soon  to  wed  so  wealthy  a  lady. 
The  minister  knew  his  man.  In  terms  of  affected  regret,  he 
alluded  to  the  loss  the  Government  would  sustain  in  the  ser- 
vices of  Lord  Saxingham,  etc. ;  he  rejoiced  that  Lord  Vargrave's 
absence  from  London  had  prevented  his  being  prematurely 
mixed  up,  by  false  scruples  of  honour,  in  secessions  which  his 
judgment  must  condemn.  He  treated  of  the  question  in  dis- 
pute with  the  most  delicate  address,  —  confessed  the  reason- 
ableness of  Lord  Vargrave's  former  opposition  to  it;  but 
contended  that  it  was  now,  if  not  wise,  inevitable.  He  said 
nothing  of  the  justice  of  the  measure  he  proposed  to  adopt, 
but  much  on  the  expediency.  He  concluded  by  offering  to 
Vargrave,  in  the  most  cordial  and  flattering  terms,  the  very 
seat  in  the  Cabinet  which  Lord  Saxingham  had  vacated,  with 
an  apology  for  its  inadequacy  to  his  lordship's  merits,  and  a 
distinct  and  definite  promise  of  the  refusal  of  the  gorgeous 


424  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

viceroyalty  of  India,  which  would  be  vacant  next  year  by  the 
return  of  the  present  governor-general. 

Unprincipled  as  Vargrave  was,  it  is  not,  perhaps,  judging 
him  too  mildly  to  say  that,  had  he  succeeded  in  obtaining 
Evelyn's  hand  and  fortune,  he  would  have  shrunk  from  the 
baseness  he  now  meditated.  To  step  coldly  into  the  very  post 
of  which  he,  and  he  alone,  had  been  the  cause  of  depriving 
his  earliest  patron  and  nearest  relative;  to  profit  by  the 
betrayal  of  his  own  party;  to  damn  himself  eternally  in  the 
eyes  of  his  ancient  friends ;  to  pass  down  the  stream  of  his- 
tory as  a  mercenary  apostate,  —  from  all  this  Vargrave  must 
have  shrunk,  had  he  seen  one  spot  of  honest  ground  on  which 
to  maintain  his  footing.  But  now  the  waters  of  the  abyss 
were  closing  over  his  head ;  he  would  have  caught  at  a  straw ; 
how  much  more  consent  to  be  picked  up  by  the  vessel  of  an 
enemy !  All  objection,  all  scruple,  vanished  at  once.  And  the 
"  barbaric  gold  "  "  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind  "  glittered  before  the 
greedy  eyes  of  the  penniless  adventurer !  Not  a  day  was  now 
to  be  lost.  How  fortunate  that  a  written  proposition,  from 
which  it  was  impossible  to  recede,  had  been  made  to  him 
before  the  failure  of  his  matrimonial  projects  had  become 
known!  Too  happy  to  quit  Paris,  he  would  set  off  on  the 
morrow,  and  conclude  in  person  the  negotiation.  Vargrave 
glanced  towards  the  clock;  it  was  scarcely  past  eleven.  What 
revolutions  are  worked  in  moments !  Within  an  hour  he  had 
lost  a  wife,  a  noble  fortune,  changed  the  politics  of  his  whole 
life,  stepped  into  a  Cabinet  office,  and  was  already  calculating 
how  much  a  governor-general  of  India  could  lay  by  in  five 
years !  But  it  was  only  eleven  o'clock.  He  had  put  off  Mr. 
Howard's  visit  till  twelve;  he  wished  so  much  to  see  him, 
and  learn  all  the  London  gossip  connected  with  the  recent 
events.  Poor  Mr.  Douce!  Vargrave  had  already  forgotten 
his  existence !  —  he  rang  his  bell  hastily.  It  was  some  time 
before  his  servant  answered. 

Promptitude  and  readiness  were  virtues  that  Lord  Vargrave 
peremptorily  demanded  in  a  servant ;  and  as  he  paid  the  best 
price  for  the  articles  —  less  in  wages  than  in  plunder  —  he 
was  generally  sure  to  obtain  them. 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  425 

"Where  the  deuce  have  you  been?  This  is  the  third  time 
I  have  rung!  you  ought  to  be  in  the  anteroom!  " 

"I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon;  but  I  was  helping  Mr. 
Maltravers's  valet  to  find  a  key  which  he  dropped  in  the 
courtyard." 

"Mr.  Maltravers!     Is  he  at  this  hotel?" 
"Yes,  my  lord;  his  rooms  are  just  overhead." 
"Humph!     Has  Mr.  Howard  engaged  a  lodging  here?" 
"  No,  my  lord.     He  left  word  that  he  was  gone  to  his  aunt, 
Lady  Jane." 

"  Ah,    Lady  Jane  —  lives    at    Paris  —  so   she  does ;    Eue 
Chaussee  d'Antin  —  you  know  the  house?     Go  immediately 
—  go  yourself;   don't  trust   to  a  messenger  —  and   beg   Mr. 
Howard  to  return  with  you.     I  want  to  see  him  instantly." 
"Yes,  my  lord." 

The  servant  went.  Lumley  was  in  a  mood  in  which  soli- 
tude was  intolerable.  He  was  greatly  excited;  and  some 
natural  compunctions  at  the  course  on  which  he  had  decided 
made  him  long  to  escape  from  thought.  So  Maltravers  was 
under  the  same  roof!  He  had  promised  to  give  him  an  inter- 
view next  day ;  but  next  day  he  wished  to  be  on  the  road  to 
London.  Why  not  have  it  over  to-night?  But  could  Mal- 
travers meditate  any  hostile  proceedings?  Impossible!  What- 
ever his  causes  of  complaint,  they  were  of  too  delicate  and 
secret  a  nature  for  seconds,  bullets,  and  newspaper  para- 
graphs! Vargrave  might  feel  secure  that  he  should  not  be 
delayed  by  any  Bois  de  Boulogne  assignation;  but  it  was 
necessary  to  his  honour  (!)  that  he  should  not  seem  to  shun 
the  man  he  had  deceived  and  wronged.  He  would  go  up  to 
him  at  once,  —  a  new  excitement  would  distract  his  thoughts. 
Agreeably  to  this  resolution.  Lord  Vargrave  quitted  his  room, 
and  was  about  to  close  the  outer  door,  when  he  recollected 
that  perhaps  his  servant  might  not  meet  with  Howard ;  that 
the  secretary  might  probably  arrive  before  the  time  fixed,  — 
it  would  be  as  well  to  leave  his  door  open.  He  accordingly 
stopped,  and  writing  upon  a  piece  of  paper,  "  Dear  Howard, 
send  up  for  me  the  moment  you  arrive :  I  shall  be  with  Mr. 
Maltravers  au  second" — Vargrave  wafered  the  affiche  to  the 


426  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

door,  which  he  then  left  ajar,  and  the  lamp  in  the  landing- 
place  fell  clear  and  full  on  the  paper. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Vargrave,  in  the  little  stone-paven  ante- 
chamber without,  inquiring  of  the  servant  if  Mr.  Maltravers 
was  at  home,  which  had  startled  and  interrupted  Cesarini  as 
he  was  about  to  reply  to  Ernest.  Each  recognized  that  sharp 
clear  voice ;  each  glanced  at  the  other. 

"I  will  not  see  him,"  said  Maltravers,  hastily  moving 
towards  the  door;   "you  are  not  fit  to  — " 

"Meet  him?  no!  "  said  Cesarini,  with  a  furtive  and  sinister 
glance,  which  a  man  versed  in  his  disease  would  have  under- 
stood, but  which  Maltravers  did  not  even  observe;  "I  will 
retire  into  your  bedroom;  my  eyes  are  heavy.  I  could 
sleep." 

He  opened  the  inner  door  as  he  spoke,  and  had  scarcely 
reclosed  it  before  Vargrave  entered. 

"Your  servant  said  you  were  engaged;  but  I  thought  you 
might  see  an  old  friend :  "  and  Vargrave  coolly  seated  himself. 

Maltravers  drew  the  bolt  across  the  door  that  separated 
them  from  Cesarini;  and  the  two  men,  whose  characters  and 
lives  were  so  strongly  contrasted,  were  now  alone. 

"  You  wished  an  interview, —  an  explanation,"  said  Lumley ; 
"I  shrink  from  neither.  Let  me  forestall  inquiry  and  com- 
plaint. I  deceived  you  knowingly  and  deliberately,  it  is 
quite  true,  —  all  stratagems  are  fair  in  love  and  war.  The 
prize  was  vast !  I  believed  my  career  depended  on  it :  I  could 
not  resist  the  temptation.  I  knew  that  before  long  you  would 
learn  that  Evelyn  was  not  your  daughter;  that  the  first  com- 
munication between  yourself  and  Lady  Vargrave  would  betray 
me ;  but  it  was  worth  trying  a  coujp  de  main.  You  have  foiled 
me,  and  conquered:  be  it  so;  I  congratulate  you.  You  are 
tolerably  rich,  and  the  loss  of  Evelyn's  fortune  will  not  vex 
you  as  it  would  have  done  me." 

"Lord  Vargrave,  it  is  but  poor  affectation  to  treat  thus 
lightly  the  dark  falsehood  you  conceived,  the  awful  curse  you 
inflicted  upon  me.  Your  sight  is  now  so  painful  to  me,  it  so 
stirs  the  passions  that  I  would  seek  to  suppress,  that  the 
sooner  our  interview  is  terminated  the  better.     I  have  to 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  427 

charge  you,  also,  with  a  crime,  — not,  perhaps,  baser  than 
the  one  you  so  calmly  own,  but  the  consequences  of  which 
were  more  fatal:  you  understand  me?" 

"I  do  not." 

"  Do  not  tempt  me !  do  not  lie !  "  said  Maltravers,  still  in  a 
calm  voice,  though  his  passions,  naturally  so  strong,  shook 
his  whole  frame.  "  To  your  arts  I  owe  the  exile  of  years  that 
should  have  been  better  spent ;  to  those  arts  Cesarini  owes  the 
wreck  of  his  reason,  and  Florence  Lascelles  her  early  grave! 
Ah,  you  are  pale  now;  your  tongue  cleaves  to  your  mouth! 
And  think  you  these  crimes  will  go  forever  unrequited ;  think 
you  that  there  is  no  justice  in  the  thunderbolts  of  God?" 

"Sir,"  said  Vargrave,  starting  to  his  feet,  "I  know  not 
what  you  suspect,  I  care  not  what  you  believe!  But  I  am 
accountable  to  man,  and  that  account  I  am  willing  to  render. 
You  threatened  me  in  the  presence  of  my  ward ;  you  spoke  of 
cowardice,  and  hinted  at  danger.  Whatever  my  faults,  want 
of  courage  is  not  one.  Stand  by  your  threats,  —  I  am  ready 
to  brave  them ! " 

"A  year,  perhaps  a  short  month,  ago,"  replied  Maltravers, 
"  and  I  would  have  arrogated  justice  to  my  own  mortal  hand ; 
nay,  this  very  night,  had  the  hazard  of  either  of  our  lives 
been  necessary  to  save  Evelyn  from  your  persecution,  I  would 
have  incurred  all  things  for  her  sake!  But  that  is  past;  from 
me  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  The  proofs  of  your  earlier  guilt, 
with  its  dreadful  results,  would  alone  suffice  to  warn  me  from 
the  solemn  responsibility  of  human  vengeance.  Great  Heaven ! 
what  hand  could  dare  to  send  a  criminal  so  long  hardened,  so 
black  with  crime,  unatoning,  unrepentant,  and  unprepared, 
before  the  judgment-seat  of  the  All  Just?  Go,  unhappy 
man!  may  life  long  be  spared  to  you!  Awake!  awake  from 
this  world,  before  your  feet  pass  the  irrevocable  boundary  of 
the  next ! " 

"  I  came  not  here  to  listen  to  homilies,  and  the  cant  of  the 
conventicle,"  said  Vargrave,  vainly  struggling  for  a  haughti- 
ness of  mien  that  his  conscience-stricken  aspect  terribly  be- 
lied; "not  I;  but  this  wrong  world  is  to  be  blamed,  if  deeds 
that  strict  morality  may  not  justify,  but  the  effects  of  which 


428  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

I,  no  prophet,  could  not  foresee,  were  necessary  for  success  in 
life.  I  have  been  but  as  all  other  men  have  been  who  strug- 
gle against  fortune  to  be  rich  and  great :  ambition  must  make 
use  of  foul  ladders." 

"Oh,"  said  Maltravers,  earnestly,  touched  involuntarily, 
and  in  spite  of  his  abhorrence  of  the  criminal,  by  the  relent- 
ing that  this  miserable  attempt  at  self -justification  seemed  to 
denote,  —  *'  oh,  be  warned,  while  it  is  yet  time ;  wrap  not 
yourself  in  these  paltry  sophistries;  look  back  to  your  past 
career;  see  to  what  heights  you  might  have  climbed,  if  — 
with  those  rare  gifts  and  energies,  with  that  subtle  sagacity 
and  indomitable  courage  —  your  ambition  had  but  chosen  the 
straight,  not  the  crooked,  path.  Pause !  many  years  may  yet, 
in  the  course  of  nature,  afford  you  time  to  retrace  your  steps, 
to  atone  to  thousands  the  injuries  you  have  inflicted  on  the 
few.  I  know  not  why  I  thus  address  you:  but  something 
diviner  than  indignation  urges  me;  something  tells  me  that 
you  are  already  on  the  brink  of  the  abyss !  " 

Lord  Vargrave  changed  colour,  nor  did  he  speak  for  some 
moments;  then  raising  his  head,  with  a  faint  smile,  he  said, 
"Maltravers,  you  are  a  false  soothsayer.  At  this  moment 
my  paths,  crooked  though  they  be,  have  led  me  far  towards 
the  summit  of  my  proudest  hopes;  the  straight  path  would 
have  left  me  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  You  yourself  are  a 
beacon  against  the  course  you  advise.  Let  us  contrast  each 
other.  You  took  the  straight  path,  I  the  crooked.  You,  my 
superior  in  fortune;  you,  infinitely  above  me  in  genius;  you, 
born  to  command  and  never  to  crouch :  how  do  we  stand  now, 
each  in  the  prime  of  life?  You,  with  a  barren  and  profitless 
reputation;  without  rank,  without  power,  almost  without  the 
hope  of  power.  I  —  but  you  know  not  my  new  dignity  —  I, 
in  the  Cabinet  of  England's  ministry,  vast  fortunes  opening 
to  my  gaze,  the  proudest  station  not  too  high  for  my  reason- 
able ambition!  You,  wedding  yourself  to  some  grand  chimera 
of  an  object,  aimless  when  it  eludes  your  grasp.  I,  swing- 
ing, squirrel-like,  from  scheme  to  scheme;  no  matter  if  one 
breaks,  another  is  at  hand!  Some  men  would  have  cut  their 
throats  in  despair,  an  hour  ago,  in  losing  the  object  of  a  seven 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  429 

years'  chase, — Beauty  and  Wealth,  both!  I  open  a  letter, 
and  find  success  in  one  quarter  to  counterbalance  failure  in 
another.  Bah !  bah !  each  to  his  w  e^ier,  Mai tra vers !  For  you, 
honour,  melancholy,  and,  if  it  please  you,  repentance  also! 
For  me,  the  onward,  rushing  life,  never  looking  back  to  the 
Past,  never  balancing  the  stepping-stones  to  the  Future.  Let 
us  not  envy  each  other ;  if  you  were  not  Diogenes,  you  would 
be  Alexander.  Adieu!  our  interview  is  over.  Will  you  for- 
get and  forgive,  and  shake  hands  once  more?  You  draw  back, 
you  frown !  well,  perhaps  you  are  right.    If  we  meet  again  —  " 

"It  will  be  as  strangers." 

"  Ko  rash  vows !  you  may  return  to  politics,  you  may  want 
office.  I  am  of  your  way  of  thinking  now:  and  —  ha!  ha!  — 
poor  Lumley  Ferrers  could  make  you  a  Lord  of  the  Treasury; 
smooth  travelling  and  cheap  turnpikes  on  crooked  paths,  be- 
lieve me.     Farewell!" 

On  entering  the  room  into  which  Cesarini  had  retired, 
Maltravers  found  him  flown.  His  servant  said  that  the  gen- 
tleman had  gone  away  shortly  after  Lord  Vargrave's  arrival. 
Ernest  reproached  himself  bitterly  for  neglecting  to  secure 
the  door  that  conducted  to  the  ante-chamber ;  but  still  it  was 
probable  that  Cesarini  would  return  in  the  morning. 

The  messenger  who  had  taken  the  letter  to  De  Montaigne 
brought  back  word  that  the  latter  was  at  his  villa,  but  ex- 
pected at  Paris  early  the  next  day.  Maltravers  hoped  to  see 
him  before  his  departure ;  meanwhile  he  threw  himself  on  his 
bed,  and  despite  all  the  anxieties  that  yet  oppressed  him,  the 
fatigues  and  excitements  he  had  undergone  exhausted  even 
the  endurance  of  that  iron  frame,  and  he  fell  into  a  profound 
slumber. 


i30  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 


CHAPTER   V. 

By  eight  to-morrow 
Thou  shalt  be  made  immortal. 

Measure  for  Measure. 

Lord  Vargbave  returned  to  his  apartment  to  find  Mr. 
Howard,  who  had  but  just  that  instant  arrived,  warming  his 
white  and  well-ringed  hands  by  the  fire.  He  conversed  with 
him  for  half  an  hour  on  all  the  topics  on  which  the  secretary- 
could  give  him  information,  and  then  dismissed  him  once  more 
to  the  roof  of  Lady  Jane. 

As  he  slowly  undressed  himself,  he  saw  on  his  writing-table 
the  note  which  Lady  Doltimore  had  referred  to,  and  which  he 
had  not  yet  opened.  He  lazily  broke  the  seal,  ran  his  eye 
carelessly  over  its  few  blotted  words  of  remorse  and  alarm, 
and  threw  it  down  again  with  a  contemptuous  "  pshaw ! " 
Thus  unequally  are  the  sorrows  of  a  guilty  tie  felt  by  the 
man  of  the  world  and  the  woman  of  society ! 

As  his  servant  placed  before  him  his  wine  and  water, 
Vargrave  told  him  to  see  early  to  the  preparations  for  de- 
parture, and  to  call  him  at  nine  o'clock. 

"Shall  I  shut  that  door,  my  lord?"  said  the  valet,  pointing 
to  one  that  communicated  with  one  of  those  large  closets,  or 
armoires,  that  are  common  appendages  to  French  bedrooms, 
and  in  which  wood  and  sundry  other  matters  are  kept. 

"No,"  said  Lord  Vargrave,  petulantly;  "you  servants  are 
so  fond  of  excluding  every  breath  of  air.  I  should  never  have 
a  window  open,  if  I  did  not  open  it  myself.  Leave  the  door 
as  it  is,  and  do  not  be  later  than  nine  to-morrow." 

The  servant,  who  slept  in  a  kind  of  kennel  that  communi- 
cated with  the  anteroom,  did  as  he  was  bid;  and  Vargrave 
put  out  his  candle,  betook  himself  to  bed,  and,  after  drowsily 
gazing  some  minutes  on  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire,  which 


ALICE  ;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  431 

threw  a  dim  ghastly  light  over  the  chamber,  fell  fast  asleep. 
The  clock  struck  the  first  hour  of  morning,  and  in  that  house 
all  seemed  still. 

The  next  morning,  Maltravers  was  disturbed  from  his 
slumber  by  De  Montaigne,  who,  arriving,  as  was  often  his 
wont,  at  an  early  hour  from  his  villa,  had  found  Ernest's 
note  of  the  previous  evening. 

Maltravers  rose  and  dressed  himself;  and  while  De  Mon- 
taigne was  yet  listening  to  the  account  which  his  friend  gave 
of  his  adventure  with  Cesarini,  and  the  unhappy  man's  accu- 
sation of  his  accomplice,  Ernest's  servant  entered  the  room 
very  abruptly. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  thought  you  might  like  to  know.  What 
is  to  be  done?  The  whole  hotel  is  in  confusion,  Mr.  Howard 
has  been  sent  for,  and  Lord  Doltimore.  So  very  strange,  so 
sudden ! " 

"  What  is  the  matter?     Speak  plain." 

"  Lord  Vargrave,  sir,  —  poor  Lord  Vargrave  —  " 

"  Lord  Vargrave !  " 

"Yes,  sir;  the  master  of  the  hotel,  hearing  you  knew  his 
lordship,  would  be  so  glad  if  you  would  come  down.  Lord 
Vargrave,  sir,  is  dead,  — found  dead  in  his  bed!  " 

Maltravers  was  rooted  to  the  spot  with  amaze  and  horror. 
Dead !  and  but  last  night  so  full  of  life  and  schemes  and  hope 
and  ambition. 

As  soon  as  he  recovered  himself,  he  hurried  to  the  spot, 
and  De  Montaigne  followed.  The  latter,  as  they  descended 
the  stairs,  laid  his  hand  on  Ernest's  arm  and  detained  him. 

"Did  you  say  that  Castruccio  left  the  apartment  while 
Vargrave  was  with  you,  and  almost  immediately  after  his 
narrative  of  Vargrave's  instigation  to  his  crime?" 

"Yes." 

The  eyes  of  the  friends  met;  a  terrible  suspicion  possessed 
both.  "No;  it  is  impossible!"  exclaimed  Maltravers.  "How 
could  he  obtain  entrance,  how  pass  Lord  Vargrave's  servants? 
No,  no;  think  of  it  not!" 

They  hurried  down  the  stairs ;  they  reached  the  other  door 
of  Vargrave's  apartment.     The  notice  to  Howard,  with  the 


432  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

name  of  Vargrave  underscored,  was  still  on  the  panels.  De 
Montaigne  saw  and  shuddered. 

They  were  in  the  room  by  the  bedside,  A  group  were 
collected  round;  they  gave  way  as  the  Englishman  and  his 
friend  approached;  and  the  eyes  of  Maltravers  suddenly 
rested  on  the  face  of  Lord  Vargrave,  which  was  locked, 
rigid,  and  convulsed. 

There  was  a  buzz  of  voices  which  had  ceased  at  the  entrance 
of  Maltravers ;  it  was  now  renewed.  A  surgeon  had  been  sum- 
moned—  the  nearest  surgeon,  — a  young  Englishman  of  no 
great  repute  or  name.  He  was  making  inquiries  as  he  bent 
over  the  corpse. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Lord  Vargrave's  servant,  "his  lordship 
told  me  to  call  him  at  nine  o'clock.  I  came  in  at  that  hour, 
but  his  lordship  did  not  move  nor  answer  me.  I  then  looked 
to  see  if  he  were  very  sound  asleep,  and  I  saw  that  the  pillows 
had  got  somehow  over  his  face,  and  his  head  seemed  to  lie 
very  low ;  so  I  moved  the  pillows,  and  I  saw  that  his  lordship 
was  dead." 

"Sir,"  said  the  surgeon,  turning  to  Maltravers,  "you  were 
a  friend  of  his  lordship,  I  hear.  I  have  already  sent  for  Mr. 
Howard  and  Lord  Doltimore.  Shall  I  speak  with  you  a 
minute?" 

Maltravers  nodded  assent.  The  surgeon  cleared  the  room 
of  all  but  himself,  De  Montaigne,  and  Maltravers. 

"Has  that  servant  lived  long  with  Lord  Vargrave?"  asked 
the  surgeon. 

"I  believe  so, — yes;  I  recollect  his  face.     Why?" 

"And  you  think  him  safe  and  honest?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  know  nothing  of  him." 

"Look  here,  sir,"  —  and  the  surgeon  pointed  to  a  slight 
discoloration  on  one  side  the  throat  of  the  dead  man.  "  This 
may  be  accidental  —  purely  natural;  his  lordship  may  have 
died  in  a  fit ;  there  are  no  certain  marks  of  outward  violence, 
but  murder  by  suffocation  might  still  —  " 

"But  who  besides  the  servant  could  gain  admission?  Was 
the  outer  door  closed?  " 

"The  servant  can  take  oath  that  he  shut  the  door  before 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  438 

going  to  bed,  and  that  no  one  was  with  his  lordship,  or  in  the 
rooms,  when  Lord  Vargrave  retired  to  rest.  Entrance  from 
the  windows  is  impossible.  Mind,  sir,  I  do  not  think  I  have 
any  right  to  suspect  any  one.  His  lordship  had  been  in  very 
ill  health  a  short  time  before ;  had  had,  I  hear,  a  rush  of  blood 
to  the  head.  Certainly,  if  the  servant  be  innocent,  we  can  sus- 
pect no  one  else.  You  had  better  send  for  more  experienced 
practitioners." 

De  Montaigne,  who  had  hitherto  said  nothing,  now  looked 
with  a  hurried  glance  around  the  room:  he  perceived  the 
closet-door,  which  was  ajar,  and  rushed  to  it,  as  by  an  invol- 
untary impulse.  The  closet  was  large,  but  a  considerable 
pile  of  wood,  and  some  lumber  of  odd  chairs  and  tables,  took 
up  a  great  part  of  the  space.  De  Montaigne  searched  behind 
and  amidst  this  litter  with  trembling  haste,  —  no  trace  of 
secreted  murder  was  visible.  He  returned  to  the  bedroom 
with  a  satisfied  and  relieved  expression  of  countenance.  He 
then  compelled  himself  to  approach  the  body,  from  which  he 
had  hitherto  recoiled. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  almost  harshly,  as  he  turned  to  the  surgeon, 
"what  idle  doubts  are  these?  Cannot  men  die  in  their  beds, 
of  sudden  death,  no  blood  to  stain  their  pillows,  no  loop-hole 
for  crime  to  pass  through,  but  we  must  have  science  itself 
startling  us  with  silly  terrors?  As  for  the  servant,  I  will 
answer  for  his  innocence;  his  manner,  his  voice  attest  it." 
The  surgeon  drew  back,  abashed  and  humbled,  and  began  to 
apologize,  to  qualify,  when  Lord  Doltimore  abruptly  entered. 

"Good  heavens!  "  said  he,  "what  is  this?  What  do  I  hear? 
Is  it  possible?  Dead!  So  suddenly!"  He  cast  a  hurried 
glance  at  the  body,  shivered,  and  sickened,  and  threw  himself 
into  a  chair,  as  if  to  recover  the  shock.  When  again  he  re- 
moved his  hand  from  his  face,  he  saw  lying  before  him  on  the 
table  an  open  note.  The  character  was  familiar;  his  own 
name  struck  his  eye,  —  it  was  the  note  which  Caroline  had 
sent  the  day  before.  /  As  no  one  heeded  him,  Lord  Doltimore 
read  on,  and  possessed  himself  of  the  proof  of  his  wife's  guilt 
unseen.  ; 

The  surgeon,  now  turning  from  De  Montaigne,  who  had 

28 


434  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

been  rating  him  soundly  for  the  last  few  moments,  addressed 
himself  to  Lord  Doltimore.  "Your  lordship,"  said  he,  "was, 
I  hear,  Lord  Vargrave's  most  intimate  friend  at  Paris." 

"  I  his  intimate  friend  I "  said  Doltimore,  colouring  highly, 
and  in  a  disdainful  accent.     "  Sir,  you  are  misinformed." 

"Have  you  no  orders  to  give,  then,  my  lord?" 

"None,  sir.  My  presence  here  is  quite  useless.  Good-day 
to  you,  gentlemen." 

"  With  whom,  then,  do  the  last  duties  rest?  "  said  the  sur- 
geon, turning  to  Maltravers  and  De  Montaigne.  ""With  the 
late  lord's  secretary?  —  I  expect  him  every  moment;  and  here 
he  is,  I  suppose,"  —  as  Mr.  Howard,  pale,  and  evidently  over- 
come by  his  agitation,  entered  the  apartment.  Perhaps,  of  all 
the  human  beings  whom  the  ambitious  spirit  of  that  senseless 
clay  had  drawn  around  it  by  the  webs  of  interest,  affection,  or 
intrigue,  that  young  man,  whom  it  had  never  been  a  tempta- 
tion to  Vargrave  to  deceive  or  injure,  and  who  missed  only 
the  gracious  and  familiar  patron,  mourned  most  his  memory, 
and  defended  most  his  character.  The  grief  of  the  poor  sec- 
retary was  now  indeed  overmastering.  He  sobbed  and  wept 
like  a  child. 

When  Maltravers  retired  from  the  chamber  of  death,  De 
Montaigne  accompanied  him;  but  soon  quitting  him  again, 
as  Ernest  bent  his  way  to  Evelyn,  he  quietly  rejoined  Mr. 
Howard,  who  readily  grasped  at  his  offers  of  aid  in  the  last 
melancholy  duties  and  directions. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
If  we  do  meet  again,  why,  we  shall  smile.  —  Julius  CoBsar. 

The  interview  with  Evelyn  was  long  and  painful.  It  was 
reserved  for  Maltravers  to  break  to  her  the  ne \vs  of  the  sud- 
den death  of  Lord  Vargrave,  which  shocked  her  unspeakably ; 
and  this,  which  made  their  first  topic,  removed  much  con- 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  485 

straint    and    deadened    much    excitement    in    those    which 
followed. 

Vargrave's  death  served  also  to  relieve  Maltravers  from  a 
most  anxious  embarrassment.  He  need  no  longer  fear  that 
Alice  would  be  degraded  in  the  eyes  of  Evelyn.  Henceforth 
the  secret  that  identified  the  erring  Alice  Darvil  with  the 
spotless  Lady  Vargrave  was  safe,  known  only  to  Mrs.  Leslie 
and  to  Aubrey.  In  the  course  of  nature,  all  chance  of  its 
disclosure  must  soon  die  with  them ;  and  should  Alice  at  last 
become  his  wife,  and  should  Cleveland  suspect  (which  was  not 
probable)  that  Maltravers  had  returned  to  his  first  love,  he 
knew  that  he  might  depend  on  the  inviolable  secrecy  of  his 
earliest  friend. 

The  tale  that  Vargrave  had  told  to  Evelyn  of  his  early  — 
but,  according  to  that  tale,  guiltless  —  passion  for  Alice,  he 
tacitly  confirmed;  and  he  allowed  that  the  recollection  of  her 
virtues,  and  the  intelligence  of  her  sorrows  and  unextinguish- 
able  affection,  had  made  him  recoil  from  a  marriage  with  her 
supposed  daughter.  He  then  proceeded  to  amaze  his  young 
listener  with  the  account  of  the  mode  in  which  he  had  dis- 
covered her  real  parentage,  of  which  the  banker  had  left  it  to 
Alice's  discretion  to  inform  her,  after  she  had  attained  the 
age  of  eighteen.  And  then,  simply,  but  with  manly  and  ill- 
controlled  emotion,  he  touched  upon  the  joy  of  Alice  at 
beholding  him  again,  upon  the  endurance  and  fervour  of  her 
love,  upon  her  revulsion  of  feeling  at  learning  that,  in  her 
unforgotten  lover,  she  beheld  the  recent  suitor  of  her  adopted 
child. 

"And  now,"  said  MaltVavers,  in  conclusion,  "the  path  to 
both  of  us  remains  the  l.ame.  To  Alice  is  our  first  duty. 
The  discovery  I  have  m Jie  of*  your  real  parentage  does  not 
diminish  the  claims  whi<m  Alice  has  on  me,  does  not  lessen 
the  grateful  affection  that  is  due  to  her  from  yourself.  Yes, 
Evelyn,  we  are  not  the  less  separated  forever.  But  when  I 
learned  the  wilful  falsehood  which  the  unhappy  man,  now 
hurried  to  his  last  account,  to  whom  your  birth  was  known, 
had  imposed  upon  me,  —  namely,  that  you  were  the  child  of 
Alice,  —  and  when  I  learned  also  that  you  had  been  hurried 


436  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

into  accepting  his  hand,  I  trembled  at  your  union  with  one  so 
false  and  base.  I  came  hither  resolved  to  frustrate  his 
schemes  and  to  save  you  from  an  alliance,  the -motives  of 
which  I  foresaw,  and  to  which  my  own  letter,  my  own  deser- 
tion, had  perhaps  urged  you.  New  villanies  on  the  part  of 
this  most  perverted  man  came  to  my  ear:  but  he  is  dead; 
let  us  spare  his  memor3%  For  you  —  oh,  still  let  me  deem 
myself  your  friend,  —  your  more  than  brother ;  let  me  hope 
now  that  I  have  planted  no  thorn  in  that  breast,  and  that  your 
affection  does  not  shrink  from  the  cold  word  of  friendship." 

"Of  all  the  wonders  that  you  have  told  me,"  answered 
Evelyn,  as  soon  as  she  could  recover  the  power  of  words,  "  my 
most  poignant  sorrow  is,  that  I  have  no  rightful  claim  to  give 
a  daughter's  love  to  her  whom  I  shall  ever  idolize  as  my 
mother.  Oh,  now  I  see  why  I  thought  her  affection  measured 
and  lukewarm.  And  have  I  —  I  destroyed  her  joy  at  seeing 
you  again?  But  you  —  you  will  hasten  to  console,  to  reas- 
sure her!  She  loves  you  still,  — she  will  be  happy  at  last; 
and  that  —  that  thought  —  oh,  that  thought  compensates 
for  all!" 

There  was  so  much  warmth  and  simplicity  in  Evelyn's 
artless  manner,  it  was  so  evident  that  her  love  for  him  had 
not  been  of  that  ardent  nature  which  would  at  first  have 
superseded  every  other  thought  in  the  anguish  of  losing  him 
forever,  that  the  scale  fell  from  the  eyes  of  Maltravers,  and  he 
saw  at  once  that  his  own  love  had  blinded  him  to  the  true 
character  of  hers.  He  was  human;  and  a  sharp  pang  shot 
across  his  breast.  He  remained  silent  for  some  moments; 
and  then  resumed,  compelling  himself  as  he  spoke  to  fix  his 
eyes  steadfastly  on  hers. 

"And  now,  Evelyn  —  still  may  I  so  call  you?  —  I  have  a 
duty  to  discharge  to  another.  You  are  loved"  —  and  he 
smiled,  but  the  smile  was  sad  —  "by  a  younger  and  more 
suitable  lover  than  I  am.  From  noble  and  generous  motives 
he  suppressed  that  love,  —  he  left  you  to  a  rival ;  the  rival 
removed,  dare  he  venture  to  explain  to  you  his  own  conduct, 
and  plead  his  own  motives?  George  Legard  —  "  Maltravers 
paused.     The  cheek  on  which  he  gazed  was  tinged  with  a  soft 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  487 

blush,  Evelyn's  eyes  were  downcast,  there  was  a  slight  heav- 
ing beneath  the  robe. 

Maltravers  suppressed  a  sigh  and  continued.  He  narrated 
his  interview  with  Legard  at  Dover;  and,  passing  lightly  over 
what  had  chanced  at  Venice,  dwelt  with  generous  eloquence  on 
the  magnanimity  with  which  his  rival's  gratitude  had  been 
displayed.  Evelyn's  eyes  sparkled,  and  the  smile  just  visited 
the  rosy  lips  and  vanished  again.  The  worst  because  it  was 
the  least  selfish  fear  of  Maltravers  was  gone,  and  no  vain 
doubt  of  Evelyn's  too  keen  regret  remained  to  chill  his  con- 
science in  obeying  its  earliest  and  strongest  duties. 

"  Farewell !  "  he  said,  as  he  rose  to  depart ;  "  I  will  at  once 
return  to  London,  and  assist  in  the  effort  to  save  your  fortune 
from  this  general  wreck:  Life  calls  us  back  to  its  cares  and 
business  —  farewell,  Evelyn!  Aubrey  will,  I  trust,  remain 
with  you  still." 

"Remain!  Can  I  not  return  then  to  my  —  to  her  —  yes,  let 
me  call  her  mother  still?  " 

"Evelyn,"  said  Maltravers,  in  a  very  low  voice,  "spare 
me,  spare  her  that  pain!  Are  we  yet  fit  to  —  "  He  paused; 
Evelyn  comprehended  him,  and  hiding  her  face  with  her 
hands,  burst  into  tears. 

When  Maltravers  left  the  room,  he  was  met  by  Aubrey, 
who,  drawing  him  aside,  told  him  that  Lord  Doltimore  had 
just  informed  him  that  it  was  not  his  intention  to  remain  at 
Paris,  and  had  more  than  delicately  hinted  at  a  wish  for  the 
departure  of  Miss  Cameron.  In  this  emergency,  Maltravers 
bethought  himself  of  Madame  de  Ventadour. 

No  house  in  Paris  was  a  more  eligible  refuge,  no  friend 
more  zealous;  no  protector  would  be  more  kind,  no  adviser 
more  sincere.  To  her  then  he  hastened.  He  briefly  informed 
her  of  Vargrave's  sudden  death;  and  suggested  that  for  Eve- 
lyn to  return  at  once  to  a  sequestered  village  in  England 
might  be  a  severe  trial  to  spirits  already  broken ;  and  declared 
truly,  that  though  his  marriage  with  Evelyn  was  broken  off, 
her  welfare  was  no  less  dear  to  him  than  heretofore.  At  his 
first  hint,  Valerie,  who  took  a  cordial  interest  in  Evelyn  for 
her  own  sake,  ordered  her  carriage,  and  drove  at  once  to  Lady 


438  ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES. 

Doltimore's.  His  lordship  was  out,  her  ladyship  was  ill,  in 
her  own  room,  could  see  no  one,  not  even  her  guest.  Evelyn 
in  vain  sent  up  to  request  an  interview ;  and  at  last,  content- 
ing herself  with  an  affectionate  note  of  farewell,  accompanied 
Aubrey  to  the  home  of  her  new  hostess. 

Gratified  at  least  to  know  her  with  one  who  would  be  sure 
to  win  her  affection  and  soothe  her  spirits,  Maltravers  set  out 
on  his  solitary  return  to  England. 

Whatever  suspicious  circumstances  might  or  might  not  have 
attended  the  death  of  Lord  Vargrave,  certain  it  is  that  no  evi- 
dence confirmed  and  no  popular  rumour  circulated  them.  His 
late  illness,  added  to  the  supposed  shock  of  the  loss  of  the 
fortune  he  had  anticipated  with  Miss  Cameron,  aided  by  the 
simultaneous  intelligence  of  the  defeat  of  the  party  with 
whom  it  was  believed  he  had  indissolubly  entwined  his  ambi- 
tion, sufficed  to  account  satisfactorily  enough  for  the  melan- 
choly event.  De  Montaigne,  who  had  been  long,  though  not 
intimately,  acquainted  with  the  deceased,  took  upon  himself 
all  the  necessary  arrangements,  and  superintended  the  funeral ; 
after  which  ceremony,  Howard  returned  to  London;  and  in 
Paris,  as  in  the  grave,  all  things  are  forgotten !  But  still  in 
De  Montaigne's  breast  there  dwelt  a  horrible  fear.  As  soon 
as  he  had  learned  from  Maltravers  the  charge  the  maniac 
brought  against  Vargrave,  there  came  upon  him  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  day  when  Cesarini  had  attempted  De  Montaigne's 
life,  evidently  mistaking  him  in  his  delirium  for  another,  — 
and  the  sullen,  cunning,  and  ferocious  character  which  the 
insanity  had  ever  afterwards  assumed.  He  had  learned  from 
Howard  that  the  outer  door  had  been  left  ajar  when  Lord 
Vargrave  was  with  Maltravers.  The  writing  on  the  panel,  the 
name  of  Vargrave,  would  have  struck  Castruccio's  eye  as  he 
descended  the  stairs ;  the  servant  was  from  home,  the  apart- 
ments deserted;  he  might  have  won  his  way  into  the  bed- 
chamber, concealed  himself  in  the  armoire,  and  in  the  dead 
of  the  night,  and  in  the  deep  and  helpless  sleep  of  his  victim, 
have  done  the  deed.  What  need  of  weapons  —  the  suffocating 
pillows  would  stop  speech  and  life.  What  so  easy  as  escape, 
—  to  pass  into  the  anteroom;  to  unbolt  the  door;  to  descend 


ALICE;   OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  489 

into  tlie  courtyard;  to  give  the  signal  to  the  porter  in  his 
lodge,  who,  without  seeing  him,  would  pull  the  cordon,  and 
give  him  egress  unobserved? 

All  this  was  so  possible,  so  probable. 

De  Montaigne  now  withdrew  all  inquiry  for  the  unfortu- 
nate ;  he  trembled  at  the  thought  of  discovering  him,  of  veri- 
fying his  awful  suspicions,  of  beholding  a  murderer  in  the 
brother  of  his  wife !  But  he  was  not  doomed  long  to  enter- 
tain fear  for  Cesarini;  he  was  not  fated  ever  to  change  suspi- 
cion into  certainty.  A  few  days  after  Lord  Vargrave's  burial, 
a  corpse  was  drawn  from  the  Seine.  Some  tablets  in  the 
pockets,  scrawled  over  with  wild,  incoherent  verses,  gave  a 
clew  to  the  discovery  of  the  dead  man's  friends :  and,  exposed 
at  the  Morgue,  in  that  bleached  and  altered  clay,  De  Mon- 
taigne recognized  the  remains  of  Castruccio  Cesarini.  "He 
died  and  made  no  sign! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 
SiwotJLA  quaeque  locum  teneant  sortita.^  —  Horace  :  Ars  Poetica. 

Maltravers  and  the  lawyers  were  enabled  to  save  from  the 
insolvent  bank  but  a  very  scanty  portion  of  that  wealth  in 
which  Richard  Templeton  had  rested  so  much  of  pride.  The 
title  extinct,  the  fortune  gone  —  so  does  Fate  laugh  at  our 
posthumous  ambition!  Meanwhile  Mr.  Douce,  with  consid- 
erable plunder,  had  made  his  way  to  America :  the  bank  owed 
nearly  half  a  million;  the  purchase  money  for  Lisle  Court, 
which  Mr.  Douce  had  been  so  anxious  to  get  into  his  clutches, 
had  not  sufficed  to  stave  oif  the  ruin,  —  but  a  great  part  of  it 
sufficed  to  procure  competence  for  himself.  How  inferior  in 
wit,  in  acuteness,  in  stratagem,  was  Douce  to  Vargrave;  and 
yet  Douce  had  gulled  him  like  a  child !    Well  said  the  shrewd 

1  "  To  each  lot  its  appropriate  place." 


440  ALICE;    OR,   THE   MYSTERIES. 

small  philosopher  of  France  —  "  On  peut  etre  plus  fin  qu'un 
autre,  mais  pas  plus  fin  que  tous  les  autres."  ^ 

To  Legard,  whom  Maltravers  had  again  encountered  at 
Dover,  the  latter  related  the  downfall  of  Evelyn's  fortunes; 
and  Maltravers  loved  him  when  he  saw  that,  far  from  chang- 
ing his  affection,  the  loss  of  wealth  seemed  rather  to  raise  his 
hopes.     They  parted;  and  Legard  set  out  for  Paris. 

But  was  Maltravers  all  the  while  forgetful  of  Alice?  He 
had  not  been  twelve  hours  in  London  before  he  committed  to 
a  long  and  truthful  letter  all  his  thoughts,  his  hopes,  his 
admiring  and  profound  gratitude.  Again,  and  with  solemn 
earnestness,  he  implored  her  to  accept  his  hand,  and  to  con- 
firm at  the  altar  the  tale  which  had  been  told  to  Evelyn. 
Truly  he  said  that  the  shock  which  his  first  belief  in  Var- 
grave's  falsehood  had  occasioned,  his  passionate  determina- 
tion to  subdue  all  trace  of  a  love  then  associated  with  crime 
and  horror,  followed  so  close  by  his  discovery  of  Alice's 
enduring  faith  and  affection,  had  removed  the  image  of 
Evelyn  from  the  throne  it  had  hitherto  held  in  his  desires 
and  thoughts ;  truly  he  said  that  he  was  now  convinced  that 
Evelyn  would  soon  be  consoled  for  his  loss  by  another,  with 
whom  she  would  be  happier  than  with  him;  truly  and  sol- 
emnly he  declared  that  if  Alice  rejected  him  still,  if  even 
Alice  were  no  more,  his  suit  to  Evelyn  never  could  be  re- 
newed, and  Alice's  memory  would  usurp  the  place  of  all 
living  love! 

Her  answer  came :  it  pierced  him  to  the  heart.  It  was  so 
humble,  so  grateful,  so  tender  still.  Unknown  to  herself, 
love  yet  coloured  every  word;  but  it  was  love  pained,  galled, 
crushed,  and  trampled  on;  it  was  love,  proud  from  its  very 
depth  and  purity.     His  offer  was  refused. 

Months  passed  away.  Maltravers  yet  trusted  to  time. 
The  curate  had  returned  to  Brook-Green,  and  his  letters  fed 
Ernest's  hopes  and  assured  his  doubts.  The  more  leisure 
there  was  left  him  for  reflection,  the  fainter  became  those 
dazzling  and  rainbow  hues  in  which  Evelyn  had  been  robed 

^  One  may  be  more  sharp  than  one's  neighbour,  but  one  can't  be  sharper 
than  all  one's  neighbours.  —  Rochefoucauld. 


ALICE;    OR,   THE  MYSTERIES.  441 

and  surrounded,  and  the  brighter  the  halo  that  surrounded  his 
earliest  love.  The  more  he  pondered  on  Alice's  past  history, 
and  the  singular  beauty  of  her  faithful  attachment,  the  more 
he  was  impressed  with  wonder  and  admiration,  the  more  anx- 
ious to  secure  to  his  side  one  to  whom  Nature  had  been  so 
bountiful  in  all  the  gifts  that  make  woman  the  angel  and  star 
of  life. 

Months  passed.  From  Paris'  the  news  that  Maltravers 
received  confirmed  all  his  expectations,  — the  suit  of  Legard 
had  replaced  his  own.  It  was  then  that  Maltravers  began  to 
consider  how  far  the  fortune  of  Evelyn  and  her  destined  hus- 
band was  such  as  to  preclude  all  anxiety  for  their  future  lot. 
Fortune  is  so  indeterminate  in  its  gauge  and  measurement. 
Money,  the  most  elastic  of  materials,  falls  short  or  exceeds, 
according  to  the  extent  of  our  wants  and  desires.  With  all 
Legard's  good  qualities  he  was  constitutionally  careless  and 
extravagant;  and  Eyelyn  was  too  inexperienced,  and  too  gen- 
tle, perhaps,  to  correct  his  tendencies.  Maltravers  learned 
that  Legard's  income  was  one  that  required  an  economy  which 
he  feared  that,  in  spite  of  all  his  reformation,  Legard  might 
not  have  the  self-denial  to  enforce.  After  some  considera- 
tion, he  resolved  to  add  secretly  to  the  remains  of  Evelyn's 
fortune  such  a  sum  as  might,  being  properly  secured  to  her- 
self and  children,  lessen  whatever  danger  could  arise  from  the 
possible  improvidence  of  her  husband,  and  guard  against  the 
chance  of  those  embarrassments  which  are  among  the  worst 
disturbers  of  domestic  peace.  He  was  enabled  to  effect  this 
generosity  unknown  to  both  of  them,  as  if  the  sum  bestowed 
were  collected  from  the  wrecks  of  Evelyn's  own  wealth  and 

the  profits  of  the  sale  of  the  houses  in  C ,  which  of  course 

had  not  been  involved  in  Donee's  bankruptcy.  And  then  if 
Alice  were  ever  his,  her  jointure,  which  had  been  secured  on 
the  property  appertaining  to  the  villa  at  Fulham,  would 
devolve  upon  Evelyn.  Maltravers  could  never  accept  what 
Alice  owed  to  another.  Poor  Alice!  No!  not  that  modest 
wealth  which  you  had  looked  upon  complacently  as  one  day 
or  other  to  be  his. 

Lord  Doltimore  is  travelling  in  the  East, — Lady  Dolti- 


442  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

more,  less  adventurous,  has  fixed  lier  residence  in  Rome. 
She  has  grown  thin,  and  taken  to  antiquities  and  rouge. 
Her  spirits  are  remarkably  high  —  not  an  uncommon  effect  of 
laudanum. 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

Arrived  at  last 
Unto  the  wished  haven.  —  Shakspeaeb. 

In  the  August  of  that  eventful  year  a  bridal  party  were 
assembled  at  the  cottage  of  Lady  Vargrave.  The  ceremony 
had  just  been  performed,  and  Ernest  Maltravers  had  bestowed 
upon  George  Legard  the  hand  of  Evelyn  Templeton. 

If  upon  the  countenance  of  him  who  thus  officiated  as  a 
father  to  her  he  had  once  wooed  as  a  bride  an  observant  eye 
might  have  noted  the  trace  of  mental  struggles,  it  was  the 
trace  of  struggles  past;  and  the  calm  had  once  more  settled 
over  the  silent  deeps.  He  saw  from  the  casement  the  carriage 
that  was  to  bear  away  the  bride  to  the  home  of  another,  —  the 
gay  faces  of  the  village  group,  whose  intrusion  was  not  for- 
bidden, and  to  whom  that  solemn  ceremonial  was  but  a  joy- 
ous pageant ;  and  when  he  turned  once  more  to  those  within 
the  chamber,  he  felt  his  hand  clasped  in  Legard's. 

"You  have  been  the  preserver  of  my  life,  you  have  been 
the  dispenser  of  my  earthly  happiness ;  all  now  left  to  me  to 
wish  for  is,  that  you  may  receive  from  Heaven  the  blessings 
you  have  given  to  others !  " 

"  Legard,  never  let  her  know  a  sorrow  that  you  can  guard 
her  from ;  and  believe  that  the  husband  of  Evelyn  will  be  dear 
to  me  as  a  brother !  " 

And  as  a  brother  blesses  some  younger  and  orphan  sister 
bequeathed  and  intrusted  to  a  care  that  should  replace  a 
father's,  so  Maltravers  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  Evelyn's 
golden  tresses,  and  his  lips  moved  in  prayer.      He  ceased; 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  443 

lie  pressed  his  last  kiss  upon  her  forehead,  and  placed  her 
hand  in  that  of  her  young  husband.  There  was  silence ;  and 
when  to  the  ear  of  Maltravers  it  was  broken,  it  was  by  the 
wheels  of  the  carriage  that  bore  away  the  wife  of  George 
Legard ! 

The  spell  was  dissolved  forever.  And  there  stood  before 
the  lonely  man  the  idol  of  his  early  youth,  Alice,  —  still,  per- 
haps, as  fair,  and  once  young  and  passionate,  as  Evelyn;  pale, 
changed,  but  lovelier  than  of  old,  if  heavenly  patience  and 
holy  thought,  and  the  trials  that  purify  and  exalt,  can  shed 
over  human  features  something  more  beautiful  than  bloom. 

The  good  curate  alone  was  present,  besides  these  two  sur- 
vivors of  the  error  and  the  love  that  make  the  rapture  and 
the  misery  of  so  many  of  our  kind;  and  the  old  man,  after 
contemplating  them  a  moment,  stole  unperceived  away. 

"Alice,"  said  Maltravers,  and  his  voice  trembled,  "hitherto, 
from  motives  too  pure  and  too  noble  for  the  practical  affec- 
tions and  ties  of  life,  you  have  rejected  the  hand  of  the  lover 
of  your  youth.  Here  again  I  implore  you  to  be  mine !  Give 
to  my  conscience  the  balm  of  believing  that  I  can  repair  to 
you  the  evils  and  the  sorrows  I  have  brought  upon  you.  Nay, 
weep  not;  turn  not  away.  Each  of  us  stands  alone;  each  of 
us  needs  the  other.  In  your  heart  is  locked  up  all  my  fondest 
associations,  my  brightest  memories.  In  you  I  see  the  mirror 
of  what  I  was  when  the  world  was  new,  ere  I  had  found  how 
Pleasure  palls  upon  us,  and  Ambition  deceives!  And  me, 
Alice  —  ah,  you  love  me  still!  Time  and  absence  have  biit 
strengthened  the  chain  that  binds  us.  By  the  memory  of  our 
early  love,  by  the  grave  of  our  lost  child  that,  had  it  lived, 
would  have  united  its  parents,  I  implore  you  to  be  mine! " 

"Too  generous!"  said  Alice,  almost  sinking  beneath  the 
emotions  that  shook  that  gentle  spirit  and  fragile  form,  "  how 
can  I  suffer  your  compassion  —  for  it  is  but  compassion  —  to 
deceive  yourself?  You  are  of  another  station  than  I  believed 
you.  How  can  you  raise  the  child  of  destitution  and  guilt  to 
your  own  rank?  And  shall  I  —  I  —  who.  Heaven  knows! 
would  save  you  from  all  regret  —  bring  to  you  now,  when 
years  have  so  changed  and  broken  the  little  charm  I  could 


444  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

ever  have  possessed,  this  blighted  heart  and  weary  spirit? 
Oh,  no,  no !  "  and  Alice  paused  abruptly,  and  the  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks. 

"Be  it  as  you  will,"  said  Maltravers,  mournfully;  "but,  at 
least,  ground  your  refusal  upon  better  motives.  Say  that  now, 
independent  in  fortune,  and  attached  to  the  habits  you  have 
formed,  you  would  not  hazard  your  happiness  in  my  keeping, 

—  perhaps  you  are  right.  To  my  happiness  you  would  indeed 
contribute ;  your  sweet  voice  might  charm  away  many  a  mem- 
ory and  many  a  thought  of  the  baffled  years  that  have  inter- 
vened since  we  parted;  your  image  might  dissipate  the 
solitude  which  is  closing  round  the  Future  of  a  disappointed 
and  anxious  life.  With  you,  and  with  you  alone,  I  might  yet 
find  a  home,  a  comforter,  a  charitable  and  soothing  friend. 
This  you  could  give  to  me;  and  with  a  heart  and  a  form  alike 
faithful  to  a  love  that  deserved  not  so  enduring  a  devotion. 
But  I  —  what  can  I  bestow  on  you?  Your  station  is  equal  to 
my  own;  your  fortune  satisfies  your  simple  wants.  'Tis  true 
the  exchange  is  not  equal,  Alice.     Adieu !  " 

"Cruel!"  said  Alice,  approaching  him  with  timid  steps. 
"  If  I  could  —  I,  so  untutored,  so  unworthy  —  if  I  could  com- 
fort you  in  a  single  care !  " 

She  said  no  more,  but  she  had  said  enough ;  and  Maltravers, 
clasping  her  to  his  bosom,  felt  once  more  that  heart  which 
never,  even  in  thought,  had  swerved  from  its  early  worship, 
beating  against  his  own! 

He  drew  her  gently  into  the  open  air.  The  ripe  and  mellow 
noonday  of  the  last  month  of  summer  glowed  upon  the  odorous 
flowers,  and  the  broad  sea,  that  stretched  beyond  and  afar, 
wore  upon  its  solemn  waves  a  golden  and  happy  smile. 

"And  ah,"  murmured  Alice,  softly,  as  she  looked  up  from 
his  breast,  "  I  ask  not  if  you  have  loved  others  since  we  parted 

—  man's  faith  is  so  different  from  ours  —  I  only  ask  if  you 
love  me  now?" 

"More!  oh,  immeasurably  more,  than  in  our  youngest 
days ! "  cried  Maltravers,  with  fervent  passion.  "  More 
fondly,  more  reverently,  more  trustfully,  than  I  ever  loved 
living  being!  —  even  her,  in  whose  youth  and  innocence  I 


ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES.  445 

adored  the  memory  of  thee  I  Here  have  I  found  that  which 
shames  and  bankrupts  the  Ideal !  Here  have  I  found  a  virtue, 
that,  coming  at  once  from  God  and  Nature,  has  been  wiser 
than  all  my  false  philosophy  and  firmer  than  all  my  pride ! 
You,  cradled  by  misfortune,  —  your  childhood  reared  amidst 
scenes  of  fear  and  vice,  which,  while  they  scared  back  the 
intellect,  had  no  pollution  for  the  soul,  —  your  very  parent 
your  tempter  and  your  foe;  you,  only  not  a  miracle  and  an 
angel  by  the  stain  of  one  soft  and  unconscious  error,  —  you, 
alike  through  the  equal  trials  of  poverty  and  wealth,  have 
been  destined  to  rise  above  all  triumphant;  the  example  of 
the  sublime  moral  that  teaches  us  with  what  mysterious 
beauty  and  immortal  holiness  the  Creator  has  endowed  our 
human  nature  when  hallowed  by  our  human  affections !  You 
alone  suffice  to  shatter  into  dust  the  haughty  creeds  of  the 
Misanthrope  and  Pharisee!  And  your  fidelity  to  my  erring 
self  has  taught  me  ever  to  love,  to  serve,  to  compassionate,  to 
respect  the  community  of  God's  creatures  to  which  —  noble 
and  elevated  though  you  are  —  you  yet  belong !  " 

He  erased,  overpowered  with  the  rush  of  his  own  thoughts. 
And  Alice  was  too  blessed  for  words.  But  in  the  murmur  of 
the  sunlit  leaves,  in  the  breath  of  the  summer  air,  in  the  song 
of  the  exulting  birds,  and  the  deep  and  distant  music  of  the 
heaven-surrounded  seas,  there  went  a  melodious  voice  that 
seemed  as  if  Nature  echoed  to  his  words,  and  lest  the 
reunion  of  her  children. 

Maltravers  once  more  entered  upon  the  career  so  long  sus- 
pended. He  entered  with  an  energy  more  practical  and 
steadfast  than  the  fitful  enthusiasm  of  former  years;  and  it 
was  noticeable  amongst  those  who  knew  him  well,  that  while 
the  firmness  of  his  mind  was  not  impaired,  the  haughtiness 
of  his  temper  was  subdued.  No  longer  despising  Man  as  he 
is,  and  no  longer  exacting  from  all  things  the  ideal  of  a  vision- 
ary standard,  he  was  more  fitted  to  mix  in  the  living  World, 
and  to  minister  usefully  to  the  great  objects  that  refine  and 
elevate  our  race.  His  sentiments  were,  perhaps,  less  lofty, 
but  his  actions  were  infinitely  more  excellent,  and  his  theories 
infinitely  more  wise. 


446  ALICE;    OR,  THE  MYSTERIES. 

Stage  after  stage  we  have  proceeded  with  him  through  the 
MTSTEKiES  OF  LIFE.  The  Eleusinia  are  closed,  and  the  crown- 
ing libation  poured. 

And  Alice !  — Will  the  world  blame  us  if  you  are  left  happy 
at  the  last?  We  are  daily  banishing  from  our  law-books  the 
statutes  that  disproportion  punishment  to  crime.  Daily  we 
preach  the  doctrine  that  we  demoralize  wherever  we  strain 
justice  into  cruelty.  It  is  time  that  we  should  apply  to  the 
Social  Code  the  Wisdom  we  recognize  in  Legislation!  It  is 
time  that  we  should  do  away  with  the  punishment  of  death  for 
inadequate  offences,  even  in  books ;  it  is  time  that  we  should 
allow  the  morality  of  atonement,  and  permit  to  Error  the  right 
to  hope,  as  the  reward  of  submission  to  its  suffering.  Nor  let 
it  be  thought  that  the  close  to  Alice's  career  can  offer  tempta- 
tion to  the  offence  of  its  commencement.  Eighteen  years  of 
sadness,  a  youth  consumed  in  silent  sorrow  over  the  grave  of 
Joy,  have  images  that  throw  over  these  pages  a  dark  and 
warning  shadow  that  will  haunt  the  young  long  after  they 
turn  from  the  tale  that  is  about  to  close !  If  Alice  had  died 
of  a  broken  heart,  if  her  punishment  had  been  more  than  she 
could  bear,  then,  as  in  real  life,  you  would  have  justly  con- 
demned my  moral;  and  the  human  heart,  in  its  pity  for  the 
victim,  would  have  lost  all  recollection  of  the  error. — My  tale 
is  done. 


THB  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NONRENEWABLE 


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ILL 
DUE  2  WKS  FROM 


1991 


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RECEIVED 


Book  Slip-25m-9,'59(A4772s4)4280 


UCLA-College  Vbnr/ 

PR  4922  A39  1891 


mil  iiii'iiiMi™ »'""'""'" 

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Collie 
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